


The Field Trip

by venea_taur



Series: Windy City Musketeers [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-01 20:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16772473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venea_taur/pseuds/venea_taur
Summary: When Aramis is asked to chaperone one of Treville's kid's field trip to Chicago, there are questions if he can do it because he's still struggling with depression and PTSD following the massacre. He doesn't want to disappoint Treville or the kids and fears that failing here will mean abandonment by everyone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this story off and on for about a year and I think I'm finally happy with it. It takes place several months after Aramis has shown up on Treville's doorstep, which was in December of 2011. This takes place in November/December 2012. He's been in steady counseling for a couple months and has been living with Athos and Porthos at Athos' place. Tim is 7, Ben, 5, and Meg less than a year old. There's no d'Artagnan in this story (he's still in college and only Aramis has met him). The story is complete and I'll be posting Wednesdays and Saturdays, with the final posting on Christmas Eve. In my mind, the story is a Christmas story even though it doesn't directly deal with Christmas. I hope you all enjoy.

Aramis has been allowed back at the Treville’s for a few weeks now. It wasn’t Treville or Sarah who prohibited him from coming over, but himself. Still, these last weeks, he’s stuck to being there when Sarah or Treville was around so there was back up if something happened. Every time he looks at, thinks about Tim and Ben he thinks of nothing but their terrified faces in the days that led up to him leaving. Treville and Sarah understood his need to leave. Ben hadn’t and still doesn’t quite. But he’s happy to have Aramis back. The now-five-year-old easily forgives. Not so for seven-year-old Tim, who’s always been more distant and fearful of Aramis. Aramis hasn’t pushed the kid. He doesn’t want to force him. He can only imagine what it’s like from the eyes of a small child to understand the moods of a person dealing with PTSD.

It’s strange then, unexpected, when Tim asks him to be a chaperone to his first grade’s field trip to the Christkindlmarket mid-December. Aramis hadn’t expected to be looking after the kids today, but it’s a rare snow day thanks to a combination of heavy snow and extreme cold. Still, the Musketeers never closed, so Treville had to report in and Sarah had to take Meg to a doctor’s appointment. Aramis was the closest person available who was familiar and comfortable with the two kids.

“Dad’s busy at work and mom’s busy with Meg. You’re the only grown up I know that’s not busy,” Tim explains. “If we don’t have enough grown-ups then we can’t go and I really want to go. Mom and Dad always say they’re going to take us but something always happens.”

Aramis imagines he was the something last year that stopped them from going. It’s been years since Aramis went to the Market himself but remembers it was always quite enjoyable. He would hate for Tim to miss the experience again.

“Sure, just let me know when. I might be heading back to work next month, but I don’t think it’s full time yet,” Aramis says. It’s not until he signs the form saying he’ll be a chaperone that he fully realizes what he’s agreed to. He tries to go back to entertaining the kids instead of thinking about it. He’s not entirely successful.

He intends to stay until Treville comes home, helping Sarah manage the three kids during the day. Aramis doesn’t have a car and isn’t driving right now, so he’s stuck until someone can take him back home. He’s forgotten about the field trip until Tim runs in the kitchen as they’re getting lunch together to tell Sarah he got a chaperone. She takes the form and sends Tim back to play with Ben in the living room.

“Are you sure about this, Aramis,” she asks, looking at the younger man who’s steadfastly refusing to look up.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly after a pause.

“I know you’ve made a lot of progress in the last few months, but this is a lot.”

“To be honest,” he begins, finally looking up at her, “I wasn’t really thinking. Then I guess I was kind of hoping that I wouldn’t be allowed to and that might resolve it.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

“My past, my present, pick one.” Aramis shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not family, so I got to thinking I might be barred from being a chaperone.”

“Well, that is true. They don’t allow non-family members unless they’ve been added by family members and Jean and I both added you as an emergency contact as well as pick-up person. In the school’s eyes, you’re approved for activities involving kids.”

“Oh,” Aramis says. That was a lot of trust to place in him and it makes his stomach uneasy.

“Now, of course, if you don’t want to go, I can just tell Tim that you’re not available.”

Aramis thinks for a moment. “No,” he pauses again. “No, I’ll go. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“Are you sure? Your health is more important. Tim won’t be happy but he will understand.”

“I know, I know.” Aramis nods. “But I can’t hide away for the rest of my life because of it. And how will I be a Musketeer if I can’t go on a field trip?”

“How often will you directly encounter all of your triggers as a Musketeer,” Sarah asks pointedly, voice calm.

“True, but I refuse to be held captive by them.”

“You’re not being held captive by them, as you say. You’re dealing with them. But if you’re sure.”

“I am,” Aramis says, trying to insert as much confidence into those two words as he can. He returns to making the sandwiches.

Sarah doesn’t say anything more about the field trip as they finish getting lunch together. Aramis keeps Ben and Tim occupied, playing with Meg some, as well, when she’s awake, giving Sarah a break.

After Treville comes home and after dinner, he drives Aramis home. Sarah must have spoken with Treville at some point during the day because the field trip is nearly the first thing he brings up on their drive.

“Tim will understand, Aramis,” Treville says.

“I don’t want to disappoint him.” Aramis keeps his eyes out the window, watching the brightly lit houses as they pass through the dark streets.

“You don’t have to do this to get him to like you. He’s a child and doesn’t yet understand what you’re going through.”

“That’s not why I’m doing this.” That sounds weak even to Aramis.

“Then why.” Treville lets that one pass. Aramis isn’t the sort to go to great lengths to get people’s friendship, but he knows the younger man has a guilt streak a mile or more long.

“Like I told Sarah, I don’t want to be beholden to these problems my entire life. How can I be a Musketeer, if I can’t take some kids on a field trip?”

“Most days as a Musketeer you’re not going to run into things that might trigger you,” Treville counters. He knows it’s the same argument Sarah gave Aramis but it’s the truth.

“Sir,” Aramis says, exasperation clear. Treville knows by the tone and formal address to drop it. Aramis has always been rather stubborn. They finish the drive in silence until Treville pulls up into Athos’ driveway. Aramis and Porthos have been living here since summer after being evicted from Porthos’ apartment.

“Aramis,” Treville says, voice serious before the young man opens the car door. “Do a test run, at least. Go with Athos and Porthos, see if you can handle it. If something happens when you’re there with the kids, I worry about the effect it’ll have on you.”

“I’ll talk with them about it,” Aramis says, nodding. He thanks Treville for the ride and gets out to walk in the house. In the past, Athos and Porthos would’ve been waiting at the doorway for him, but he’s gotten them to back off some. Instead, they’re waiting as patiently as possible in the den.

“How were your days,” he asks them before they can get a word out.

“Cold and slow,” Athos answers with a grumble from the armchair. The building used by the Musketeers is an old brick building, Dearborn Station. It’s been renovated a lot in the last few years, once it became clear the taskforce was sticking around, but it’s still rather difficult to heat. In cold weather like today, it wouldn’t be uncommon to wear a jacket and gloves inside. Athos and Porthos were well accustomed to layering, which helped a lot.

“If they got that heating thing sorted, fewer officers would be getting sick,” Aramis says. He takes his usual seat on the couch, grabbing a blanket to wrap around himself. Since the massacre, he’s been more sensitive to temperatures, especially extremes. Heat he wasn’t surprised by, but the cold was an odd one. Athos and Porthos kept telling him to adjust the thermostat, but he refused because it was just him. He didn’t want to make them uncomfortable by turning the temperature up or down too much.

“I think it’s Richelieu’s way of trying to put an end to us,” Porthos says, smiling. He’s on the other side of the couch, TV remote in hand. He’s put the TV on mute until they’re done talking with Aramis. The man in question sits in between them.

“Don’t think you guys are going anywhere anytime soon.”

Porthos wants to correct Aramis to include himself in that, but he stops himself. Aramis worked some two months before being put on administrative leave. Even those two months weren’t steady as he often missed days or went home early as a result of his illnesses. It’s no surprise that he doesn’t count himself a part of the Musketeers, yet. If he gets the all-clear from his physiatrist, though, he’ll be back for part-time, probationary duties sometime in December.

“How was your day with Tim and Ben,” Porthos asks, instead.

“Good,” Aramis says quickly.

Porthos and Athos give each other a quick look. They may have known Aramis for just under a year, but it’s been a hard year and they’ve had a crash course in Aramis-speak. Speaking that quickly means something happened, but pushing won’t get them anywhere.

“How was Meg’s appointment? Did Sarah say anything about it,” Athos asks.

“I think it went fine. Sarah didn’t say much about it. It was just a routine appointment. Meg is quite active though.”

“She’s crawling isn’t she,” Porthos asks, abandoning the remote in favor of more important things. “The Captain commented that she was getting into everything now that she was moving around.”

“Yeah, she’s crawling and quite curious. Ben and Tim and I kept her busy while Sarah got caught up on housework and took a few hours to herself. Those boys really enjoy having Meg around. I know they’re going to like her even more when she’s fully mobile.”

“That’s good.” Athos nods. “How is Ben doing?” He and Porthos knew how upset the young boy was when Aramis left. He’d become quite attached to Aramis. Treville told them Ben asked daily how Aramis was doing, worried that the man might start feeling too lonely again.

“He was rather upset he couldn’t go outside, but we built a fort in the morning and he seemed happier about that.”

“Sarah can’t have been happy to see that when she came home,” Porthos says.

“I think she expected it with me looking after the kids. We did take it down before I left,” Aramis says.

“And how was Tim?” A couple of years older than Ben, Tim knew it wasn’t a case of loneliness afflicting Aramis. They’d each taken time to explain it to the older boy, but it still hadn’t made much sense. It left Tim seeing Aramis more as a potentially dangerous stranger than someone dealing with issues beyond their control.

“He was good,” Aramis says quickly again. And then Athos and Porthos pinpointed the problem.

“He had a good time playing,” Porthos asks.

“Yeah. He was a bit hesitant at first, but he soon got busy playing and forgot about things. I think the last couple weeks have helped.” Aramis plays with a stray thread on the blanket.

“That’s good,” Athos says. “You ate there, I’m guessing. Treville said he was going to try to get you to stay.”

“Yeah. They tried to get me to stay the night, but I told them I’m better off here.” There’s nothing Aramis has against staying at the Treville’s overnight, but he’s found that familiar surroundings are best when he wakes from nightmares. And, if he’s really bad off, he has Porthos and Athos who either offer a part of their bed or sleep on the other half of his. Sarah and Treville know this, but they wouldn’t be good friends if they didn’t at least offer. He appreciates it anyway.

The room descends into silence for a moment. Then Athos speaks because he is the only one Aramis will accept this question from.

“What happened with Tim, ‘Mis?”

“Nothing.” The answer is quick with an edge of panic.

“Please, ‘Mis, tell us what happened,” Porthos says. He’s not angry and he’s careful to keep his voice steady. When it comes to issues surrounding his PTSD and other illness, Aramis has always responded better and connected more with Athos. In many ways, Aramis is closer and more comfortable with Athos than he is with Porthos. On the whole, Porthos is okay with that because Aramis will at least confide in one of them but he won’t deny that it hurts when Aramis seeks out Athos instead of him.

“It’s nothing,” Aramis says, looking down at the blanket. “Just a simple field trip. A simple field trip.” He sounds like he’s more trying to convince himself.

“Where to,” Athos asks.

“The Christkindlmarket.”

It’s a testament to his awareness of what will set Aramis off that Porthos doesn’t say what first comes to mind, that Aramis can’t go. He doesn’t know how Aramis got roped into going, but concern for Aramis’ well-being is the first thing on his mind. The Christkindlmarket is nearly always packed, with long lines everywhere and people milling about in large groups. Aramis still has problems going shopping with them. They were finally able to go out last weekend thanks to Athos knowing the manager of a nearby store. He let them in early, keeping the store closed for much of their shopping trip. Still, Aramis had some rough moments.

And then the kids.

Aramis can’t go. Porthos is convinced that no matter how much progress the younger man has made in coping with his illnesses, there is no way he’s ready to look after the safety of kids.

What was Aramis thinking in agreeing?

Porthos glances at Athos, the concerned look on his face telling him that Athos is thinking on the same lines.

“Treville thinks I should go on a trial run,” Aramis says, still playing with the blanket.

“That would probably be a good idea,” Athos says, starting to look through his calendar on his phone. He’s not sure when they’ll find the time, but he and Porthos will definitely accompany Aramis on this trial run. He would like to think that the young man is ready for such an adventure, but he’s seen the progress he’s made and knows that it’s not enough. It is only recently that he’s allowed himself back around Treville’s kids, despite not being banned from seeing them by anyone but himself. Aramis never has said why, but Athos knows it’s not related to the massacre itself. More likely, it’s the severity of his PTSD back in April. It got worse and more erratic after the birth of Meg.

And today’s morning alone with Tim and Ben had sparked a short panic in Aramis when Sarah called to see if he was able to look after them. They, fortunately, were there to help him through it, but Athos had had more than a few worries when he dropped Aramis off at the Trevilles this morning.

“We’ll go with you,” Porthos says.

“There’s no time,” Aramis says. “You two are busy clear up to the 13th when the field trip takes place.”

“We’ll make the time, ‘Mis.”

“I don’t want you two to have to take any time off of work.”

“For you, we’d gladly take time off,” Athos says. “But I don’t think that’ll be the case. How about we go next Saturday?” That was the day he thought they’d get the tree out and start decorating but it could easily be put off. If things go bad, a week and a half should be enough time to notify the school and hopefully find someone different.

“Saturday?” Aramis’ voice rises, worry clear. “That’s going to be a busy day, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Porthos says. “But if you’re going to be a chaperone, you have to handle the crowds without a problem.” He’s not trying to frighten Aramis into not going but he needs to know what to expect both with the crowds and himself.

“I know, but…”

“You don’t have to do this, ‘Mis. Tim will understand. It’s not worth it for your health.”

“Yes, I do have to do this, Porthos.” Aramis throws the blanket aside, standing so that he can pace the length of the den. Porthos and Athos have seen him like this and know that he just needs to work it out without interference. “I have to do this. Don’t you see that? I have to try, at the very least. What kind of Musketeer will I be if I can’t take crowds? Kids? Strangers? I have to know.” As he spoke, his pacing was quick and angry, but now he stands in front of them, voice low. “I have to know if I can be a Musketeer.”

“Do not think that whether you can or can’t take a group of first graders on a field trip determines your ability to be a Musketeer,” Athos says, working to keep his voice even. He’s not angry at Aramis but frustrated by his logic. “Treville may be an old friend of yours, but he wouldn’t offer you a spot if he didn’t think you capable. You may not be next month, but you will be. It takes time to recover from PTSD and depression.”

“I know.” Aramis nods. “But I still want to see if I can. I want to know.”

“I understand that need,” Porthos says. “Let’s go next Saturday then. Find out how things go.”

“Thanks.”

“We’re here to help you how we can, Aramis. Sometimes you just have to tell us what you need,” Athos says. Aramis nods.

“You ready to sit back down and catch up on TV from the week,” Porthos asks.

Aramis nods and resumes his seat on the couch. Porthos turns the volume back on as they settle in to watch TV. He notices that Aramis is less tense now. There’s still some worry he can see in the younger man’s shoulders and face.

“Don’t think about it, ‘Mis.” He stretches an arm over to rub Aramis’ shoulder gently. “It’s not for another week. Focus on the here and now.”

Aramis nods and Porthos sees him trying to make more of an effort to calm down. Aramis knows that there’s little point in worrying about it now and two years ago, he wouldn’t have. But that Aramis isn’t him anymore. Part of what his therapist has been working with him on is accepting the new version of himself. It hasn’t been easy. He hasn’t fully accepted the new Aramis, but he’s working on it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In addition to this chapter being the start of the anxiety and flashbacks, it also references the massacre Aramis was involved in. If you haven't read the previous stories, it deals with children and while there are no explicit descriptions of the scene, I do just want to give anyone reading a heads up about it.

In the immediate days after their conversation, Aramis does forget about the upcoming trip to the Christkindlmarket. He goes to his appointments, he meets with his therapist twice a week and keeps himself busy at home, baking and woodworking. He doesn’t have many tools or much space, but there’s a nice corner in the garage that Athos has cleared for him to use. The woodworking relaxes him and is something he started at the suggestion of his therapist to find a hobby that would keep him busy. The smell and sounds always remind him of working out in the garage with his dad as a child.

As Saturday gets closer, however, his anxiety grows. He’s better after the second therapist meeting of the week, but by Friday morning he can focus on nothing but going to the Market. He tries to work on his current project, but when his hand slips and he jabs his hand with one of his tools, he stops. The rest of the day is spent trying not to pace around the entire house. He loses track of the laps he’s made from the downstairs to the upstairs. When they get home in the evening, Porthos and Athos try to get him to calm down and while he does sit with them at dinner, he barely eats and he can’t focus on the TV when they go to relax in the den.

Saturday morning, they are up early. For Aramis, he might as well have not gone to bed considering how little sleep he did get.

“Are you sure you want to do this, ‘Mis,” Porthos asks as they sit at the island for breakfast. He put together a light meal of fruit and oatmeal, hoping that Aramis would eat. The younger man’s taken a few bites but is barely able to sit still.

“Yes, I have to.” He tries to put as much confidence into his voice as possible.

“If you’re going to go, then you need to eat more,” Athos says. “A few bites of fruit won’t get you through the day. We’re not taking the bus once we get there. We’ll be walking, a lot. So, eat, please.”

Aramis sighs and tries to take a bite of his oatmeal. The taste of it in his mouth makes his churning stomach worse. He swallows the bite, but it sits heavily.

“Is there something that sounds good,” Porthos asks. “You don’t have to eat what’s out. I can put together something different. You just need to eat something.”

Aramis holds his stomach and leans an elbow against the table. “No, there’s nothing. I just can’t eat.”

“Okay. Just keep snacking then. Eat what you can.” It’s not often lately that Aramis’ anxiety gets so bad he can’t eat but they’re not surprised. As determined as Aramis is to go, they want to stop him, but they know him having a panic attack or flashback while on the field trip would be devastating for the man. They don’t expect today to go well but they hope that it does. Either way, they’ll be there to help Aramis.

“We’ll take some snacks with us,” Athos says.

Aramis nods. After a pause, he picks up another piece of fruit. Each piece sits heavily in his stomach, but he keeps eating at a steady but slow pace. He stares out the window, half paying attention to the fruit he eats. He knows that Porthos and Athos are sneaking glances at him, watching how much he eats. He does his best to ignore them, knowing that they mean well.

He eats half of his bowl before his stomach refuses to take any more and he forces himself to swallow the piece of pineapple he’s started chewing as it turns his stomach.

“I can’t eat anymore,” he says, pushing the bowls away from him.

“Okay,” Athos says. “Do you want to pick some snacks to take or should I grab some?”

“You probably should. I’m going to go up and finish getting ready.”

“We’ll be leaving in half an hour,” Athos calls out as Aramis is leaving the kitchen.

“He’s not going to make it today,” Porthos says quietly once he’s sure Aramis is upstairs.

“Food-wise, no. That won’t keep him for a couple hours. He’ll need something on the ride in.”

“We’re still letting him go forward with this?” Porthos ignores Athos’ food comment.

“It’s his choice, Porthos. We have to be here to support him, no matter what. If you can’t do that, then I’ll call Treville and he’ll go in with me and Aramis.”

“I am supporting him, but I also don’t want to see him have a setback today because he thinks he needs to put himself through this nonsense. Tim will understand.”

“This isn’t about Tim, not completely, I don’t think,” Athos says. “It’s about Aramis needing to prove to himself that he’s capable of a simple outing.”

“This isn’t a simple outing. It’s worse than sardines in a can at the Market. It even makes me think twice and I don’t have any issues with crowds or anxiety,” Porthos says.

“I know, but he needs us to be there for him. Helping him to stay calm.”

Porthos eats the last couple bites of his oatmeal.

“Do you think he can do this,” Porthos asks.

“I believe he believes he can and that’s enough for me. I’ll be there for him no matter what happens today,” Athos says. “What about you? Do I need to call Treville?”

“No. I’m just worried about if it goes bad today. He’s made so much progress.”

“If it goes bad, then it’s even more important that we support him. And it’s better that we all find out today than in the middle of a field trip with a bunch of first-graders.”

“Agreed,” Porthos says with a sigh. It’s not that he doesn’t want things to go well today but he, like Athos, has been witness to the young man’s progression. The last thing they want is a big setback and Porthos fears today could do it. But he hopes differently because Aramis could do with a great morale booster.

“We should get going so we can get out of here on time. I don’t want us running late. That’s only going to add to his anxiety.”

Aramis is waiting for them, pacing, as they finish getting ready. On the walk to the station, Aramis is several steps ahead of them and on the train, he can’t sit still. The crowds of holiday shoppers don’t help and it only gets worse the closer to the city they get. Porthos pulls a puzzle toy from his jacket pocket and hands it to Aramis. Several months ago, he noticed a fidgeting Aramis playing with some string, seeing that it calmed him. So, Porthos started buying different puzzle toys that he could hand to Aramis when he was having problems with anxiety.

“Thanks,” Aramis says quietly taking the toy and starting to try to solve it. His anxiety, which grows with each passing second and is worse than it’s been in weeks, prevents him from giving full attention to the puzzle, but it’s still nice to have something to do with his anxious fingers. When they pull into Oglivie he doesn’t have it solved. He sticks the toy in his pocket and waits to get off the train. Traveling on the train isn’t new to him, not to either version of himself, but this newer version forces him to wait until many of the people have already exited the train before he thinks about leaving. Being caught up in the crowds of people pushing to exit, just the thought, is enough to send a flare of panic through him. He doesn’t like to wait, but Athos and Porthos make him listen to his body’s desire to wait. He hates his new reality.

By the time they get off, there are mostly stragglers walking off the train, some loaded with bags, others with bleary eyes that indicate they dozed on the hour plus ride in. The lack of people allows them to leisurely walk up the stairs and Porthos and Athos to catch Aramis the couple times his nervous feet don’t move the correct distance to take him up another step and he nearly hits the stairs face first. Together, they prevent their trip from ending prematurely.

It’s when they get out onto the street, into the cold, windy Chicago air that Aramis starts slowing down. It’s a thirteen-minute walk without foot traffic and stoplights, but with those it’s double and with Aramis, it may be triple or more. He blinks quickly, trying to clear his quickly blurring vision. When he reaches up with his hands to wipe his eyes, they notice.

“You okay, ‘Mis,” Porthos asks. He gently pulls Aramis to the side and they stop alongside a brick wall.

“Yeah.” Aramis nods and rubs his eyes good. “Just had something in my eye. Let’s go.” He pushes himself off the wall, thinking for a second when he actually did lean against the brick wall, and moves more confidently in the direction of the Christkindlmarket. It’s a straight walk on Washington to the Market and with each passing block, Aramis feels it looming larger. The crowds that were thinned out in the station are back and they can barely manage walking two in a row, let alone three. Aramis tries to settle in behind Porthos and Athos, keeping a close eye on their jackets as he follows them in the crowd, but Porthos quickly switches places. He gently pushes Aramis up next to Athos and takes his place behind them. Aramis will respond better to Athos than to him.

“Just breathe, Aramis,” Athos says quietly. Aramis tries to obey, to listen but breathing steadily is hard. He tries to keep them from rasping because he doesn’t want to draw attention. He wants to be normal, like everyone else walking.

“Do you need to stop,” Porthos asks. Several months ago, he would’ve asked if Aramis wanted to stop, but they’ve learned that Aramis doesn’t want to listen to his body. He needs to and getting him used to listening to the new demands of his body is paramount to his recovery.

“No.” Aramis shakes his head lightly, voice breathless. He tries to remember that Porthos and Athos are here, focus on their calming, safe presence inches from him.

And for a second it works. There’s a calmness that comes over him and he thinks he can make it. He’ll prove them and himself wrong by having a great time at the Market, then he’ll make Tim happy by helping to take his class there.

In the blink of an eye, everything changes. He catches sight of the giant, decorated Christmas tree and that stops him for a moment. Then his eyes train down to the red and white striped tents of the wooden booths and then further to the throngs of people. He can’t see a single stroke of light between bodies.

And then there’s no air.

No sight.

His lungs ache for the air that’s not there.

Blustery turns blistering; cold to heat; cloud to sun.

And he’s gone.

He doesn’t hear the curses and shouts from his friends, the angry gasps and cries from the people he knocks into, the cacophony of honks from the cars, buses, and trucks that nearly hit him. He feels the sand scrape his bare face as the hot wind rushes past his cheeks and ears, ruffling his hair that was always too unruly for regulations. He hears the bullets that tore into the night, he hears the surprised cries of children who’d placed too much faith in him, he hears their anguished gasps as they bled out underneath him. He feels their pain, with each slowing heartbeat, stopped heart, final breath, he feels their pain grow inside. And he runs.


	3. Chapter 3

Porthos and Athos curse loudly when they realize what is happening with Aramis. He’s gone before they have a chance to stop him and in the crowds of people, tracking him is difficult. They follow the wake of angry people and stopped cars, hoping they can get to Aramis before anything can happen to him. On his own, he’s not a danger to anyone in the middle of a flashback and panic attack. But someone might run across him unaware of what’s going on. From the average person to medical professions, over the past year they’ve run across far too many who don’t have enough knowledge to understand how to work with Aramis and jump to hasty conclusions about his worth or his mental state.

The path Aramis takes is random to them. They don’t have sight of him yet and unfortunately, the areas are still busy with pedestrians, leaving them a path of annoyed walkers to follow. When the sidewalks empty out, the further south Aramis takes them, they have to make some guesses about where he might’ve gone. A couple times, strangers point them in the right direction. They find his jacket, hat, scarf, and gloves at various spots on the way, letting them know that they’re on the right track.

It’s an hour before they track Aramis down to an alleyway. At first, they miss him in the dirty alley, but just as they’re passing Porthos spots Aramis’ familiar blue sweatshirt, which he’d worn under his jacket. As they get closer, they see he’s huddled in a heap of trash, legs bent at the knees, head pulled down and hands, arms wrapped around it tightly. He’s making some noise but whether it’s mutterings in languages they hardly know or a heart-wrenching keening, they can’t tell.

“You think he’s alert,” Porthos asks. They’re still several feet away and Aramis has yet to notice them. In his current state, they don’t expect recognition. Right now, Aramis will see them as a danger and they can only hope that he won’t bolt again or fight them when they approach.

“I doubt it,” Athos says. “We would’ve been met with an angry look by now.” He takes in the familiar features of Aramis in a panic attack and the aftermath: harsh breathing, rocking, crouched down, muttering.

“He must’ve had some flashbacks too if he started shedding his clothing,” Porthos says, keeping a clear eye on Aramis. If the young man is going to bolt, he wants to be near to catch him. Porthos doubts they’ll find him a second time in the city.

“Yeah, unfortunately, he’s going to catch a cold again if he stays like that for much longer.” Aramis is already shivering despite his just getting through an attack.

“Let’s get a jacket on him, at the very least.” Porthos moves to take off his jacket, taking a step forward.

“Wait.” Athos puts a hand up. “It should probably be me.” Athos gives Porthos an apologetic look.

“No, you’re right. On his bad days, he has a greater tendency to recognize you than me.” It hurts that Aramis is like this, considering he stayed with Porthos for a couple months before they moved into Athos’ house. He’s spent just as much time with the young man as Athos, yet he always reacts better to Athos’ touch in the midst of an episode.

He sees Athos taking off his jacket and making a careful approach, doing his best not to upset Aramis.

“Athos,” Porthos begins, “be careful.” It’s not that he doesn’t trust Aramis. He’s been combative and lashed out at them on occasion, though it’s been a while. But given this unusual situation, Porthos can’t help but give a word of caution.

Athos nods and continues forward. He’s speaking calmly to Aramis, working to reassure him that he’s okay and that he can trust him. He just about is close enough to lay the jacket over Aramis when the young man lunges forward, landing a solid punch to the side of his face that sends him reeling back. Porthos half catches Athos, repositioning him gently so that he’s leaning against Porthos, half bent at the waist as he deals with the sudden throbbing on the left side of his face. He has a hand held over the area as though it might help with something. He’s not sure yet if it’s just a bruise or if Aramis managed to cut him or break a bone. It was a hell of a punch and unexpected from him.

“How’s your cheek,” Porthos asks. He tries to get a glimpse beneath Athos’ hand, but it’s hidden. “Or did he get your eye? I couldn’t tell.”

“Ugh,” Athos exhales loudly, not caring what it might do to Aramis. He doesn’t want to be mad, but it hurts and it was unprovoked. He was just trying to help.

“Athos,” Porthos asks concerned.

“It’s fine, I think. I don’t know. It’s not that I can’t take a punch, but…” Speaking is strange and difficult with the throbbing.

“You didn’t expect it, least of all from him.”

“Yeah.”

“Pull your hand away and let me get a look at what he did.”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“And it wasn’t yours either. Fact is though, he punched you and I can guarantee that as bad as you feel now, he’s going to feel just as bad thanks to this.”

“I know. I don’t think he did anything serious,” Athos says, pulling his hand away. Porthos takes a few moments to examine the side of his face.

“Probably a black eye and a bruise. Does it hurt to move your jaw?”

“Sore, but not painful.”

“Good. He didn’t break the bone there. And it looks like your nose is fine too. You’re not going to look too pretty tonight, though.”

“I don’t imagine so.” Athos lightly prods the area, testing out the pain level and injuries for himself. “What’re we doing with him?” He gestures absently in Aramis’ direction. The young man has resumed his former position and is back to shaking, shivering, and muttering.

“Wait him out, I guess. Unless you think we should call Treville.”

“No, I don’t want to disturb him unless it’s absolutely necessary. And Aramis won’t thank us much if we get him out here today,” Athos says.

“Damn what Aramis thinks. If we need Treville, then we’ll call him.”

“But we don’t right now. Let’s give him a bit longer to settle out.”

“Alright.” Porthos is reluctant to agree but willing to defer to Athos. He knows that Athos understands the young man better than he does. While Porthos soon warmed up to the man, quickly finding the innate desire to protect him, Aramis didn’t easily reciprocate. Moving in with him was a matter of necessity, not want, though it did help the young man to learn to trust him more. Still, even Porthos has to admit that when it comes to the really bad situations, he’s out of his depth. There were a number of times when he and Aramis lived together that he did have to call Athos or Treville for guidance.

To occupy himself, Porthos digs around in the trash in the alleyway to find a couple of wooden crates that look reasonably clean. He holds one up to Athos, who’s been leaning against a dumpster watching Aramis. The other man gives a shoulder shrug and takes the crate. They’re careful not to sit too close to Aramis but keep close enough to hear if anything changes and to protect him if need be.

“’thos? P’thos?” Aramis’ scratchy voice is so low that they barely hear it nearly an hour later, just when they are considering calling in Treville.

“Aramis?” Athos restrains himself from moving forward just yet, still feeling the aftermath of his last encounter with Aramis.

“Where?” He’s looking around frantically, trying to process his surroundings.

“Calm down, ‘Mis. We’re here with you. It’s me and Porthos. We’re just down an alley, safe and sound.”

“It’s 2012,” Porthos adds. “It’s December. You’re in Chicago.”

“2012? Alley?” There’s still a panic, confused tone to Aramis’ words. “Time. Time to go eat.”

“’Mis?”

“Soup kitchen. Where’s the soup kitchen? Have to be there in line or won’t get any. Have to be early to miss the others.” Aramis tries to stand, but the cold has left his joints stiff and he collapses back down in a heap. “Don’t want to miss eating again.”

“He thinks he’s on the streets still,” Porthos says. Aramis has only told them snippets of his some six months on the streets but from what Porthos has gathered, it wasn’t just the mental illnesses that were hard on Aramis.

“You’re safe, ‘Mis,” Athos says. “You live with us, in a big house that I had no idea at the time why I bought but works perfectly for us now.”

“No. Need to go. Can’t miss. Days since last time.”

“He’s not going to listen to us, Athos,” Porthos says.

“I know.” Athos sighs. He looks at Aramis, who’s still trying, rather unsuccessfully, to get up. “Maybe we go along with him?”

“And take him where?”

“I think there’s a park nearby. We can take him there and maybe the change of surroundings will shake him out of this.”

“Alright.” Porthos sighs. “You still want to go eat, ‘Mis.” He turns back to Aramis.

“Have to,” Aramis says, looking out past them.

“We’ll help you get there.”

“Really? No one ever has.” He gives Porthos a surprised look that has Porthos wanting to find everyone who ever hurt Aramis when he was homeless.

“We’re going to,” Athos says. “Here, we’ll help you up.” He and Porthos put out their hands, waiting for Aramis to make the next move. There’s some hesitation from Aramis, but he eventually puts his hands out for them. Although they get him to his feet slowly, he still sways. Once he’s steady, he makes to move again.

“Hold up, Aramis. You’re not steady enough to walk on your own.”

“’m fine,” Aramis mutters just when his knees bend. Fortunately, Porthos is right there to wrap his arms around his waist and keep him upright.

“You don’t want to faceplant, now do you,” Porthos says, keeping his voice light.

“No. No,” Aramis mumbles.

“Hey,” a voice at the end of the alley calls out. “You guys need help?” It’s a middle-aged man and he’s already making his way down the alley. Porthos can feel Aramis tense in his arms at the noise.

“No, we’re fine,” Porthos says, trying to keep his voice even for Aramis’ sake.

“Doesn’t look like it.” The man pauses and looks them over. They feel the scrutiny and judgment. “Maybe I should call the police.”

“We are the police,” Athos says, stepping forward, hands out to placate the man, who has his cell phone in hand already.

“You don’t look like it.”

“We’re Musketeers. We stumbled across this man while we were out on a case and we’re getting him some help.” Athos works to keep his tone even as he lies. He reaches in his pocket for his badge, which he’s glad he always carries. He holds it out to show the man, who takes longer than Athos likes to examine the badge.

“I guess it’s fine,” the man mutters.

“We thank you for your concern, but we do have the situation under control. We’re trained for things like this.”

The man looks at them again, lingering doubt clear in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything more before walking away. Porthos and Athos wait until he’s out of sight to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Good job, Athos,” Porthos says with a grim smile.

“Yeah.” Athos sighs, turning back to Porthos and Aramis. Time to get back to the task at hand. “Let’s get him to the park.”

Porthos nods. “You still with us, ‘Mis?”

“Alley. Soup kitchen. Have to eat.”

“That’s it. Let’s get you to that soup kitchen.”

The walk is slow and it takes continual prodding from Porthos and Athos to keep Aramis moving and focused. He, fortunately, doesn’t question where they’re going. For Porthos, it’s enough to convince him that Aramis isn’t really alert yet, still caught in a haze of his flashback. They encounter few other people on the walk to the park and those who they do run into, veer a few feet away from them, some staring in the other direction, others openly gawking to the point that Porthos wants to yell at them to either offer help or pretend not to notice like everyone else.

Aramis is oblivious to it all, still mumbling about needing to get to the soup kitchen to eat. The desperation and worry in his tone cuts at Porthos and makes him want to find this soup kitchen to find out what happened. How ever they treated Aramis, it wasn’t right or fair, that much he knows. The thought makes him hold onto Aramis a little tighter.

When the worn-down gray and red buildings give way finally to the park, Porthos thinks he’s never been more glad to see brown grass and bare trees. They guide Aramis to a secluded area of the small park where there’s a wooden bench surrounded by a few bare trees. They’re still within sight but are out of the way of most of the foot traffic that might come through.

“Have a seat, ‘Mis,” Porthos says.

“Where’s the kitchen? This isn’t the kitchen. I need to go.” Aramis tries to move away from them, but they each grab a hold of him, immediately trying to calm him so they don’t draw attention again.

“There’s no soup kitchen you need to go to,” Athos says. “If you’re hungry, we have snacks with us.” Athos is worried that they might have to call Lemay or, worse, take Aramis to the ER. He’s been in a disoriented state for a while in the past, but it’s been a few months and he’s never had this much interaction and still remained in it.

“Are you hungry, ‘Mis,” Porthos asks.

Aramis nods, not looking at either of them. Porthos searches through his backpack to find Aramis’ favorite snack, goldfish crackers. He pops the lid off the container and holds them out to Aramis.

“Have some goldfish crackers,” Porthos says. When Aramis doesn’t reach into the container, Porthos pulls out a few and puts them in Aramis’ hand. “Here, try a couple.” He taps underneath Aramis’ hand, exchanging a worried look with Athos. It takes a moment or two, but Aramis does finally eat the crackers in his hand and then reaches for more from the container, eating one after another quickly.

“Slow down,” Athos says. “They’re not going anywhere.”

Aramis slows. Then, about halfway through eating, he stops.

“Where am I?” Aramis’ voice is the clearest it’s been in a couple hours though there’s still the undercurrent of confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just thought I'd stick something down here about some new writing I'm doing over on Tumblr. It's some original fiction for a Whumpmas challenge. It's also lady whump, which is rather new for me. If you're interested, you can find me under the same name there as here. (I can't guarantee it, but chances are if you run across this screenname somewhere, it's me.)


	4. Chapter 4

“Aramis?” Porthos sets the crackers aside as he and Athos turn to Aramis, observing him for any signs of more disorientation or illness.

“Athos? Porthos? Where are we? What happened to the Market?” Aramis is looking at them and around, trying to sort out where his missing hours went. He feels more tired and dirty than he remembers.

“How’re you feeling,” Athos asks.

“Tired and sore, I think. What happened?”

“You had a panic attack on our way to the Market.”

“Bolted before we knew it. Right to an alley not far from here,” Porthos adds.

“You’ve been in a sort of flashback-daze since then.”

“I have?” Aramis looks at them both, on either side of him. He believes them, but it’s still hard to take in. Losing time always disorients and upsets him. “Fuck,” he says quietly, leaning over as he runs his hands through his hair, trying to get himself back in order.

“Hey, calm down,” Porthos says, putting a careful hand on the man’s shoulder. “You’re safe. You’re here with us.”

“No. No. No.” Aramis stands, throwing off the jacket that they’d draped on his shoulders and his friends’ hands that had tried to bring him comfort.

“Don’t go anywhere.” Porthos stands, staying a couple feet away from Aramis, hands raised slightly.

“No. No. You don’t understand,” Aramis’ voice drones on as if he doesn’t hear Porthos as he begins to pace. He goes up a few feet, then back down a few feet past the starting point.

“I’ll call Lemay,” Athos says, pulling out his phone. He and Porthos share a look.

“He’s not going to be happy,” Porthos says.

“Do you think Aramis can make the call right now,” Athos asks, frustrated. He points a hand at Aramis, who’s still pacing and talking lowly to himself. “Lemay’s going to have to deal with it. Aramis needs his help more than he needs those rules right now.” He doesn’t wait for Porthos to speak, pressing the button to make the call to Lemay. As he waits for Lemay to answer, he watches Aramis continue his pacing.

When Lemay answers, Athos relays the information.

“Who thought it was a good idea to take him to the Christmas Market,” Lemay asks, irritation clear.

“Treville’s oldest kid asked him to be a chaperone and this was a trial run to see if he could manage it.”

“Clearly he’s not ready. He should’ve known that. You all should’ve,” Lemay scolds.

“I know it was a stupid idea, but if we didn’t help him, he would’ve gone down there with those children and it would’ve been worse than today,” Athos says tersely.

“Does he know you’re calling me?”

“No. He’s still pacing and muttering to himself. I think he’s more alert now, he’s just trying to catch up.”

“I should meet with him today. He needs to talk this out. When can you get him back,” Lemay asks.

“A couple hours probably. We took the train in.”

“Ok. You remember the grounding technique?”

“Yeah. We tried it, but he was still in a haze. It sent him back a year.”

“You’re going to need to try it again and keep doing it. Do you have his iPod?”

“Yeah.”

“Once you get back around people, you might need it. He’s going to be jumpy and on edge. You need to work to keep him calm and from going into another attack.”

“Of course.” This is nothing new to Athos.

“When you get back, give me a call and I’ll come over.”

Athos thanks him and hangs up.

“What’d he say,” Porthos asks.

“We need to get home. Aramis has an appointment with him once we get back.”

“That’s not going to be easy.”

“No, it won’t,” Athos says, assessing the situation. First, they need to work on grounding Aramis.

“Aramis, you still with us,” Athos asks, taking a few hesitant steps towards him.

“Athos?” Aramis looks up.

“Yeah. Do you know where you are?”

“You said we were at a park.”

“Yeah, we are. Look around, Aramis, and tell me what you see. What’s in front of you?” Athos walks until he’s right next to Aramis, facing the same direction as him as well.

“A big building,” Aramis says.

“What color is it?”

“Red because it’s made of bricks.” Aramis knows what Athos is doing and falls into the routine easily.

“Count the windows on the second floor, Aramis.”

“One, two, three, four, five. There’s five windows.”

“Good. Now, count the floors. Count the windows going up to the roof.”

Aramis starts counting aloud again. Athos does a quick count and gives Porthos a look. He’s standing on the other side of Aramis. So far, so good.

“Ten. There’s ten floors.”

“Yeah, there are. Now look around the park and tell me how many trees you see. Go slowly. You’re still a bit unsteady.” Athos and Porthos keep their arms at the ready to catch Aramis as he slowly turns around, counting the trees. Given everything that’s happened today and how little Aramis ate for breakfast, he’s due for an energy crash.

“Five, Athos. There’s five trees.”

“Tell me about what’s going on around us. Are there cars? People? The weather?” Athos can tell that Aramis is close to returning back to them fully.

“It’s quiet. Not many cars or people and it smells. And it’s cold, but there’s no snow.” Aramis pauses and takes a breath. “It was snowing.” He’s silent for a few seconds before his knees buckle. Athos and Porthos move quickly to support him, easing him back to the bench. Porthos pushes Aramis’ head down gently, putting it between his knees to ease the lightheadedness.

“Breathe, Aramis,” Porthos says, kneeling down next to him. Aramis takes a few breaths. The first couple are ragged, but with some gentle coaxing from Porthos, they even out.

As Porthos works with Aramis, Athos fishes through their backpack for the juice and chocolate they packed. When Aramis seems recovered, he unscrews the cap on the juice and hands it to Porthos.

“Athos has some juice here that you need to drink, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. He waits until Aramis eases himself back into an upright position, leaning heavily against the back of the bench. Aramis tries to take the bottle, but his hands shake and he drops them with an annoyed sigh. “Your blood sugar is just low, ‘Mis. It’s not what you’re thinking. Let us help you and you’ll be feeling better soon enough. Okay?”

Aramis nods and lets Porthos help him drink. When he’s about a third through, Athos sits on the opposite side and hands him a piece of chocolate. Eating that with shaky hands is much easier and once it’s gone, Athos hands him another piece. They work through the rest of the chocolate and juice, alternating each until they’re gone and Aramis is feeling better. He’s more steady on his feet, at least. Mentally, he’s still trying to get a grip on what happened, but he knows it wasn’t good. Nevertheless, between Athos’ work in grounding him and the snacks, he’s ready to go when Athos asks.

“We’ll have to get something when we get to the train station, but that should hold you for now,” Athos says as Porthos helps Aramis to his feet. Porthos pulls off his jacket to hand to Aramis, who is still without a jacket.

“No, you should keep it,” Aramis says. “I can wear my jacket.” He reaches out for the clothing he shed.

“I haven’t spent most of the day without a jacket and sitting in a cold, wet alley,” Porthos counters gently. “Put it on, ‘Mis. You don’t need to wear your jacket; it’s wet and you’re freezing. Give yourself a little comfort on our walk back. It’s not going to be a quick one.”

Aramis doesn’t have the energy to fight anymore and concedes to putting on the slightly bigger jacket. He can’t hide the look of pleasure that comes over him when he feels the warmth from Porthos’ having worn it.

“Let us know if you need to stop for anything, a rest, food. Anything, okay?”

“Yeah.” Aramis nods, too exhausted to feel guilty.

The walk back is long. About halfway through, with Aramis flagging, they find the nearest bus stop that will get them back to the station and take the bus back. Aramis is visibly on edge about the somewhat crowded bus, but he did consent to taking the bus. Athos hands him his iPod to listen to and Porthos and Athos sit on either side, the sides of their bodies pressed against his for comfort.

At the station, Athos takes Aramis to a bench off on the side of the second floor where there are fewer people while Porthos goes to get them some food from Aramis’ favorite chicken restaurant. The protein from the chicken would help Aramis get more of his energy back and the warmth would help combat the cold. They have nearly forty minutes to wait until the next train, which is plenty of time to eat.

When Porthos comes back he has a bag of food in one hand and a hoodie in the other.

“Here ‘Mis.” Porthos hands Aramis the hoodie. “It’s not much, but it’ll help to keep some of the cold air off of you.” He knows that Aramis is glad to give Porthos his jacket back so that he can be warm too and Aramis loves the feel of a hoodie. As Aramis changes, Athos opens up the food. He’s glad to see that Porthos got chicken tenders as they’ll be much easier for Aramis to eat.

“Have a piece of chicken, Aramis,” Athos says once Aramis is settled into his hoodie.

“I’m not hungry,” Aramis says.

“You pretty much had sugar back at the park. You need something more than that. Just take your time. It’ll also warm you up.” Athos breaks the chicken tender in half, holding out one half for Aramis.

Again, Aramis doesn’t have the energy to argue. He takes the offered half and takes a hesitant bite. Once they see Aramis eating, Porthos and Athos take a piece each and eat, making sure to not watch Aramis, but keep a casual eye on his eating.

When they are ready to get on the train, Aramis has eaten a chicken tender and a half and half of the mashed potatoes. The warmth of the food as well as a full stomach and the toll of the stress of the day makes Aramis sleepy and getting him moving is no easy feat. But they manage and soon they are on the train heading home with Aramis wedged between Athos and the window, dozing lightly. Athos wakes him long enough to get him to put his headphones back on, hoping that with the music, he’ll be able to get a little rest before having to deal with what happened.

They are nearly home when Athos tells Aramis that Lemay will be by later.

“I know.” Aramis nods quietly.

“Okay.” Athos shares a look with Porthos. It’s been a while since they’ve seen Aramis this defeated sounding.

“Why don’t you go get a warm shower and into some clean clothes. When you get done, you can give Lemay a call,” Porthos says, opening the front door.

“Sounds right,” Aramis says. “It was my decision.” He sits to take his shoes off, the motions terse. Athos and Porthos are slower in getting their shoes off, watching Aramis and trying to figure out a response. He leaves them without further word, walking quietly upstairs to the bathroom. A moment later the shower comes on.

“He’s not taking this well,” Porthos says.

“We knew it wouldn’t go well.” Athos sits back up with a sigh. “And yet we let this go forward anyway.”

“It’s better it happens now than when he was with those kids.”

“That’s easy to say from our perspective.”

“Yeah.” Porthos pauses. “I just don’t understand why he even agreed. This was a stupid idea.” Porthos roughly hangs up his jacket and walks towards the den. Athos follows.

“I don’t think this was so much about going on a field trip or testing himself as he’s told us,” Athos says once they’re in the den.

“You think this is about Tim.”

“You know how bad Aramis has felt that Tim is afraid of him.”

“This isn’t about getting a kid to like him. ‘Mis isn’t like that. He doesn’t care about things like that, does he?” The year has shown Porthos many sides of Aramis, but he realizes that it is just a year. It’s hardly anytime to really get to know someone.

“No. He’s not like that. But he does feel guilt really quickly. And Treville said they didn’t get to go last year because Aramis showed up.”

“Does he know this?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible.”

“I do,” Aramis says quietly, walking into the den wearing sweats and a thick sweater over top a long-sleeved shirt. He walks past them to sit in his customary seat on the couch, pulling the blankets around him to form a sort of cocoon.

“Aramis.” Porthos startles slightly at his arrival not so much out of surprise but that they are talking about it. “I thought you’d be in the shower longer.”

“So, you thought it was okay to talk about me?” There’s a startling lack of heat to Aramis’ words.

“We were talking about why you decided to go ahead with this trip that you had to know wouldn’t go well,” Athos says.

“Well, some of it was to see if I could,” Aramis says.

“But….”

“It wasn’t as clear as you’ve put it or Treville, but I understood what he meant. There could’ve been only one reason they didn’t go and it was my untimely arrival at their doorstep. I thought if I could manage it, even if it was a little hairy at times for me, then I might make up for his disappointment last year. But now, he’ll be disappointed again and all because of me, again.” Aramis’ voice cracks a little at the end. He shifts down on the couch, pulling the blankets up to nearly cover him up past his head as he lays on the corner, knees pulled up as tight as he can manage.

Athos and Porthos look at each other, at a loss for what to say.

“I have to call Lemay, don’t I?” Aramis’ voice is low and tinged with sadness.

“He planned to come over when we were back,” Porthos says.

“Where’s my phone?” He leverages himself up to look around. “It’s upstairs,” he says a moment later, an annoyed cry in his voice.

“You want to use one of ours,” Porthos asks.

“No, don’t want him to think I’m not doing this myself.” Aramis gets to his feet, shoving the blankets aside and trudges up the stairs, his irritation and despondence clear with each movement.

They go to see where he is when they hear him come halfway back down the stairs and stop. They find him sitting on the steps, phone held out. It’s not the first time he’s had to call Lemay but that doesn’t make this one any easier. Porthos and Athos have been good about today, but he doesn’t know how Lemay will be.

He drops the hand holding the phone and leans his head against the wall, looking at Porthos and Athos, who are half sitting on the stairs, looking up at him.

“What happened to your cheek, Athos,” Aramis asks quietly.

“What?”

“Your cheek.” Aramis pulls his head away from the wall. “It’s red and your eye looks swollen.”

Athos hesitates for a second. “I moved too quickly,” he finally says.

“I did that, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t mean to. You thought I was someone else.”

“Fuck.” Aramis drops his head and runs a hand through his hair. “Damn it.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I’m not mad,” Athos says.

“I…” Aramis doesn’t see himself starting to shake, his breathing quickening.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Porthos repeats Athos’ words, using the same calm tone. He moves up a step only to have Aramis back up a few, feet clumsily pushing him up.

“Please, Aramis. It’s okay,” Athos pleads. Next to him, Porthos stops moving.

“No, no. Can’t stay.”


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re not running away, not again.” When Aramis moves up another couple steps, Athos makes his move. As he goes up, Aramis sees his movements and tries to back up, but his feet lose their grip just as Athos almost tackles him on the steps. He feels the impact of both throughout his body, but it means nothing. Underneath Athos’ body, he tries to get free. Then there’s a gasp of pain and he freezes, completely. He’s done it again.

“You have to breathe, ‘Mis,” Athos says after several seconds pass. Longer still and Aramis finally gives to his aching lungs, taking a ragged breath. Athos doesn’t move from on top Aramis, speaking the words directly into his ear. It’s loud enough still that Porthos easily hears. “I know you think you’re a danger to us now, but you’re not. It’s fine. I’m fine. This will heal and so will you if you allow it to happen.”

Aramis breathes.

“Now, if I get up, will you stay here,” Athos asks.

Aramis nods. Athos pushes himself up and off to the side, while Aramis scurries off to the side, sitting with his back firmly against the wall. He’s very carefully not looking at either of them. They sit there in silence.

“Porthos,” Athos calls down to the man who’s sitting several steps below. “Hand me his phone, please.” Porthos grabs the phone, which had slid out of Aramis’ grasp in his dash to leave and hands it off. “Aramis, look at me,” Athos commands. Aramis moves his head enough to meet Athos’ gaze. “If you believe this is your fault and that you’re a danger, shouldn’t you call. If you want to make sure this doesn’t happen again, then call Lemay.” Athos doesn’t like leading the man to believe he’ll hurt them again, but he needs to make the call and it can’t be either of them. Aramis has to take this step himself.

Silently, Aramis takes the phone and shuffles through to find Lemay in his contacts. He sighs and pushes the button to make the call.

There’s silence save for the ringing of the phone and then a garbled voice that has to be Lemay. Aramis takes a moment to answer and when he does, he can barely keep his tears back.

“I screwed up.”

Athos and Porthos cringe at those words. The rest of the conversation is short with Aramis answering simply and with such guilt.

“He’ll be here in 30 minutes,” Aramis says when the conversation is over.

“How’re you about that,” Porthos asks. The stairwell is tense

“Don’t think I have much of a choice.” Aramis leans against the wall.

“Yes, you do,” Athos says. “Do you not want to meet with Lemay today? You can call him back and tell him no.”

“No,” Aramis says blankly.

“Then you want to meet with him?”

“I don’t know. I know that I don’t want to be like this anymore.”

“Let’s go down to the den and wait on Lemay to come then,” Porthos says. “I’ll get some tea going.

Aramis nods and follows his friends down the steps to the den. Once the tea is ready, Porthos hands each a mug and they sit on the couch, waiting for the doorbell to sound. It’s a quiet wait as no one want to talk or dares to turn on the TV.

When he does come, Porthos meets him at the door and walks him back to the den.

“Now, as much as I know you two support Aramis, I want to speak with him alone,” Lemay says. Porthos and Athos are familiar with this routine. Lemay’s come over more than a few times in the last few months to talk with Aramis. It’s usually either on weekends or when going out of the house is too difficult for Aramis.

Once the two are gone, Lemay sits in the armchair.

“How’re you feeling,” Lemay asks after several moments of silence.

“I’m not crazy,” Aramis says.

“No one ever said you were.”

“I know, but I’m not crazy.”

“Why do you think you’re crazy, Aramis?”

“I’m not.”

“I know, but you seem to be trying to convince yourself that you’re not. Did Porthos or Athos say something?”

“No, no.”

“Did someone else say something? Someone while you were out,” Lemay asks.

“People stared and whispered but I don’t know. Probably. I didn’t hear.” Aramis only occasionally glances at Lemay, looking down as he fidgets with the sleeves of his shirt.

“So, you don’t know what they were saying, for sure.”

“No, but I can guess.”

“Guesses aren’t a guarantee, though. Are they?”

“No, they aren’t.”

“So, the idea that you’re crazy, is that what someone else is thinking or you?”

“Me, I guess. But I’m not crazy.”

“I agree with you, but you seem to think you are. Can you tell me what’s making you think that you are?”

Aramis is silent for several minutes, thinking. Lemay’s used to this and lets him go until he’s ready. There are sessions where Aramis spends much of the time in quiet contemplation until he’s ready to speak. Other psychologists might feel the need to pressure Aramis to speak, knowing where it is that he needs to go in terms of his recovery, but Lemay’s never been one for that school of thought. Aramis will get to the conclusion he needs to, but it needs to be on his own time.

“I…” Aramis begins hesitantly. “I couldn’t even go into the city for a simple trip.”

“You mean a trip to the Market which has to be the most crowded city block in the entire city and gives anyone some hesitation about entering?”

“Yeah, and I couldn’t even do it. I ran off instead and they had to come find me.” Aramis ignores Lemay’s extra comment about the Market.

“Let’s take a step back and talk about what happened,” Lemay says.

“I told you what happened. I got scared and ran off!” Aramis slams a hand on the armrest.

“What scared you?”

“It was so stupid,” Aramis says quietly.

“Tell me, Aramis.” Lemay keeps his voice steady as he urges Aramis to open up a little.

“The people! There were so many of them. I… I just couldn’t…. There wasn’t any…” Aramis’ breathing picks up as he’s speaking.

“Deep breaths, Aramis. Take a break and breath in, one, two, three, and now out. One, two, three.” Lemay repeats the counting a few more times as Aramis slows his breathing to match. It takes a half a dozen times for him to calm down enough to continue. “How’re you doing,” Lemay asks.

“Fucking tired of this.”

“Recovery takes time and it’s not always going to be forward movement or easy.”

“Seems to be a lot of backward steps lately.”

“That’s not how I see it. Tell me something good that’s happened, something that you conquered.”

“I don’t know.”

“What was it that we talked about in our last session?”

“You mean going to the grocery store with Porthos and Athos early in the morning when it’s empty?”

“Could you do that before?”

“It’s pathetic. I’m a grown man. I should be able to do that.” Aramis’ tone is bitter as he almost spits the words out.

“You’re avoiding the question. Could you do that before?”

“No.”

“Then you’ve made some progress. Recovery is about going forwards and backward. You have to recognize both, Aramis, and accept that going backward is not permanent unless you let it. Now, do you want to let yourself slide back?”

“No.” Aramis knows that sliding back means going back to the streets. Athos and Porthos wouldn’t let him stay here if he let his PTSD, depression, and anxiety get out of control again. He was lucky over the last several months that they hadn’t kicked him out. He’s always felt that this turn with Lemay was his last chance before they cut him loose. Even Treville would let him go because Aramis wasn’t the same man as before and was a danger to his children. And he couldn’t go back to his family, not after running from them in the middle of the night.

“You’re overthinking, Aramis,” Lemay says.

“Sorry,” Aramis says quietly.

“It’s not a critique but a reminder. Your mind’s not always your best friend and one of the goals of therapy is to learn when that happens and how to shut it down. So, what were you ruminating over?”

“They’re going to kick me out. Especially after today, after I punched Athos.”

“When did this happen,” Lemay asks, keeping his voice steady. He’s not too concerned by the report, knowing, in part, that Aramis skews events to portray them in their worst light and that if Athos and Porthos were truly concerned about the attack, they’d have talked to him. It’s not the first time Aramis has physically lashed out at one of them and Lemay’s talked to them about the limits of such actions. They know when Aramis would be considered a danger and they’d need to take further action.

“In the city, sometime after I ran. I don’t know exactly when. I can’t remember.”

“You had a flashback?”

“Yeah.” Aramis looks away.

“Can you tell me about it?”

“I… I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay, perhaps later. Let’s go back to your worry about being kicked out.”

“I hit Athos!” Aramis sits up and looks at Lemay.

“Yes, you did and you’re clearly upset about it. Have you apologized?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And what did Athos say?”

“He accepted it and told me not to leave. He actually laid on me until I promised not to leave.”

“So, why do you think that they’d kick you out?”

“I’m not getting better. I just keep getting worse and today’s just proof of all of that.”

“Think about this, Aramis, if they were tired of your lack of progress, as you see it, why would they want you to stay after you hit Athos? Wouldn’t that be the perfect reason to tell you to leave? Who could argue with them?”

Aramis is quiet while he thinks. Then, slowly, he says, “I guess that makes sense.”

“Are you happy here, Aramis?”

“What?”

“Do you like living here with Athos and Porthos?”

“Yes, of course. It’s much better than the streets.”

“I’m sure it is. Is there somewhere else you’d like to live?”

“I have to live with someone. It doesn’t matter if there’s somewhere else.”

“Yes, it does. Are you happy living here with Athos and Porthos,” Lemay asks.

“Yes, I am,” Aramis says quickly. “They’re nice and understanding and fun to hang out with. Athos can’t cook but Porthos is really good at it and we can usually agree on what to watch at night. They’re actually the best friends I have in a while. They listen and help me when I need help and don’t know what to do. None of my other friends did that.”

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear that you’ve found some friends you can count on. You deserve to have people like that in your life.”

“I guess.” Aramis shrugs his shoulders.

“I want to talk about one last thing, Aramis.”

Aramis nods.

“Why did you go to the Market today? What made you want to try to conquer this?”

“A challenge to myself, I guess.”

Lemay isn’t convinced by that answer. Aramis doesn’t just go do things lately. Once upon a time that was probably his personality, but his mental health issues have left him hesitant to leave the house most days. Getting him to go to the grocery store on a Saturday morning before the store had even opened thanks to an understanding manager who was an old family friend of Athos’, was a challenge that had a lot of conversations leading up to it.

“Why did you decide to challenge yourself?”

“I wanted to see if I could. I had to try.”

“Why, Aramis?”

Aramis hesitates for a moment. “I’m supposed to be a chaperone on Tim’s class trip there. He asked and I said sure.”

“How’d you feel when he asked?”

“Confused that he would ask. He doesn’t like me. I ruined his trip there last year by showing up on their doorstep. And I kept ruining his holiday and days, which only made him hate me more.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Well, I don’t like it. I hate that he hates me, but I understand it. I did mess things up for him.”

“So, is that part of the reason you agreed to go on the field trip? Because you don’t like that he hates you?”

“You think I did this out of guilt?”

“Did you?”

Aramis is quiet again, thinking. Lemay lets him go.

“Maybe.”

“I’d like you to consider your reasoning for agreeing more and we’ll talk about it at your next session on Tuesday. Rest this weekend, remember your safe places and grounding techniques. Don’t hesitate to ask for help if you’re having trouble. You’re going to be prone to be on edge this weekend, as you know. So, reach out for help when you need it. Call my emergency line, if you need to. I don’t want to hear on Tuesday that you were struggling when you really needed some help, okay? There’s nothing wrong with asking.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Aramis knows the routine. He knows what’s coming for the rest of the weekend. The nightmares, the edginess, anxiety, mood swings. He’s going to be a bear to live with, both for himself and Athos and Porthos. Lemay ends the session there and stops to talk with Athos and Porthos on his way out. He doesn’t reveal anything that they talked about but reminds them of what they need to look out for over the weekend.


	6. Chapter 6

The weekend goes as expected for Aramis. He’s anxious which means he can’t eat which upsets Porthos which makes Aramis upset and sad. Athos intervenes but it’s too late and Aramis spends the night in his bedroom. Athos comes up to check on him and stays. Porthos comes up to apologize and Aramis easily accepts.

“It’s my fault anyway,” he tells Porthos. The room’s dark save for the lamps on each of the nightstands. One of them often stays the night with Aramis in case he has nightmares or flashbacks and can’t call for help, so setting up the other side of the bed seemed the best solution.

“No, I shouldn’t have been so insistent on you eating. I know you’re still dealing with the aftermath of today and eating is difficult for you in this state. You’re just still so thin, I worry that you’re not getting enough to stay healthy,” Porthos says.

“I have put on weight.”

“You’re more like a bean pole,” Porthos teases.

“No, Porthos, I think he’s right,” Athos says. “He has put on some muscle. Especially in the arms.”

“I’m sorry, Athos,” Aramis says in such a low tone that it breaks the happy atmosphere that was developing.

“You’ve apologized more than a dozen times, Aramis, and each time I’ve said, it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. It’s just a bruise,” Athos says.

“A black eye, Athos. You can barely see out of that eye and you have to go to work on Monday.”

“I can see okay out of it and it’ll be better by Monday. Not gone, but better. This will heal and so will you, in time.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it.”

“This is just a minor setback. You’ll be able to do it.”

“Maybe, but right now I don’t want to think about it.” Aramis moves so that he’s under the covers and curled on his side. “I think I’m just going to try to sleep.”

“Okay,” Athos says. “We’ll be here during the night just in case.”

“Sorry.” Aramis’ voice is muffled by the blankets.

“Stop that, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. He’s sitting in the recliner in corner of the room next to the windows. Athos runs a hand through Aramis’ hair to calm him.

The night is far from restful for the trio. Once Aramis can sleep, he quickly starts in on nightmares, which they wake him from, but it takes time to calm him down enough to at least lay back down. The cycle is familiar and exhausting. Morning comes and goes with them still trying to get more than an hour of sleep at a time.

At some point, Porthos answers a call from Treville, letting him know that everything is okay but that they’ve had a rough night. The exhaustion in Porthos’ voice is enough that Treville doesn’t push, settling for finding out more once Athos and Porthos return to work.

When Monday morning comes, the three are a little better rested, though Aramis is still struggling with lingering anxiety. The flashbacks have faded for which they are all relieved because he can’t be left on his own if he’s still having them.

“You going to be okay on your own today,” Porthos asks as he finishes dividing up the oatmeal. Athos helps him take the bowls to the island where Aramis is sitting, dressed in sweatpants and an oversized knitted sweater, a contrast to the dress clothes Porthos and Athos wear. There’s little point in getting dressed, Aramis figures when he’s not going anywhere.

“Yeah. I’m still tired so I might just sleep the day.” Aramis tries to hide the nausea he feels when the smell of the oatmeal hits his nose. He has to try to eat something this morning. Over the last couple days, he’s managed to eat tidbits, but he knows that Porthos is worried. He always worries about how much Aramis eats.

“Eat what you can,” Athos tells him quietly. Trust Athos to understand.

“You probably shouldn’t sleep most of the day,” Porthos says between bites of oatmeal. “Maybe try doing something in the garage with your tools. I know you’re in the middle of making toys for the kids.”

“Maybe,” Aramis says. The brown sugar he’s put on the oatmeal isn’t helping the taste, but he forces himself to swallow, chasing it with some orange juice to ease the lingering taste.

“Only if you feel steady enough,” Athos says. “The last thing that you need is to hurt yourself working out there.”

“Of course,” Porthos says. “Maybe just walk around or something. You can work on how you want to decorate your room. The walls are needing something on them. I mean, you are staying, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I just don’t know what to put up. I’ve always lived in dorms or the barracks where decorating of that sort is not allowed,” Aramis says.

“Why don’t you search the internet a bit. Find some things that you like and we can look over them tonight,” Athos says. He doesn’t want to treat Aramis like a child, but he understands that the thought of decorating a room must seem daunting and not just because he’s never done it before. Making decisions in his state of mind is difficult but having a decorated room might help his mood some. It’ll be better than blank walls.

“If you’re not wanting to eat the rest, ‘Mis, you don’t have to,” Porthos says, noticing how Aramis is picking at the bowl of oatmeal. He’s eaten maybe a quarter and much of that is with poorly hidden grimaces and a good drink of juice.

“I should though,” Aramis says grimly.

“There are other things you can have when you’re ready. The fridge has some snacks, mostly the fruits and veggies you like. There’s also some juices in there. Just make sure that you eat a few small meals today. Okay? I don’t want to come home and find that you’re sick with low blood sugar again.”

“Okay.” Aramis nods and pushes the oatmeal away.

“We should get going,” Athos says. “Call us if you need.”

“Or text,” Porthos adds as he and Athos clean up the kitchen.

Once they leave, Aramis spends a little more time at the island, contemplating how he’s going to spend his day. The pull of the couch is strong, especially in his post-anxiety and PTSD weekend. He knows that he shouldn’t just lay down. Lemay has told him that it just makes his depression worse to give into the sleep. He should get up and move around. Perhaps even find some recipes and get a list together for the Christmas tree decorating party they’re hosting this weekend. He used to love baking but it’s been a couple years since he’s even thought about it. But then he remembers that he’s going to have to confront Treville and Tim at the party. He’s going to have to tell them that he can’t be a chaperone. He’s going to have to disappoint Tim because he can’t keep him past in the past. Sleep is better, he decides, giving in to the lure of the couch.

He eats when Athos and Porthos text him to ask if he has had anything and he scans some store websites while laying on the couch so he has something to show Athos tonight, but when they come home, he’s sleeping. That week he is forced to skip his sessions with Lemay and they have to cancel the party when he falls sick in the aftermath of his weekend misadventure.

Treville texts him one evening to ask about chaperoning on the 13th, to which Aramis replies that he’ll be healthy enough by then.

“How’re you doing,” Porthos asks. He and Athos have just gotten off work and he’s left Athos to get dinner orders while he checks on Aramis. It’s been a long week with Aramis sick. The man claims that he never got such bad breathing problems before. They’ve managed to get a better handle on that part of the colds meaning that he hasn’t yet had a trip to the ER. He regularly uses the nebulizer while huddled under a pile of blankets in bed and it helps.

“Fine,” Aramis says, voice nasally and rough. They’ve kept him stocked with water and snacks so that he doesn’t have to try to go downstairs during the day. He had a couple days where his balance wasn’t good and they’re concerned he’d hurt himself. Truthfully, he doesn’t mind because while the cold is unpleasant, the lingering depression has done more to keep him in bed. With the cold at least they don’t expect him to get up.

“How’s your fever this evening?” Porthos checks it quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Lower. That’s good. Are you feeling better?”

“Some. I just wish this breathing would get better.”

“It’s always the last part. You want to try walking around a little. Maybe that would help.”

“No. I’m not feeling all that steady.” Aramis sinks back down under the covers a bit, feeling not just the heaviness of the cold in his chest, but also ache of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t want to move other than curling up under the covers.

“Have you been eating today?” Porthos looks over at the basket of snacks. It doesn’t look a less full than this morning.

“I tried but nothing really tasted good.” The churning in his stomach was just too much.

“Does anything sound good? I can make it or we can order it.” Porthos is worried by how little Aramis is eating. He was never a big eater before but since the Market and with the cold, he’s eating even less and they haven’t found anything that he does want to eat.

“No. I just want to sleep.” Aramis shakes his head and rolls onto his side away from Porthos, pulling the blankets over his head.

“Okay. We’ll be up later to check on you but let us know if there’s something you want.” Porthos sits there for a moment, feeling helpless before he goes back downstairs to let Athos know what’s happened.

As the week turns into the weekend, Aramis, despite his lack of an appetite, starts to get better. They’re able to tempt him into eating something by making strawberry smoothies, which he drinks because he doesn’t want to keep disappointing them. Everything about the weekend and the following week is difficult for him as the deadline of letting Treville know about the chaperone looms. He dreams about being turned out on the streets because they’re all tired of him not getting better, of disappointing them by always sliding back. As the dreams continue, he sleeps less.

The week is broken by his appointment with Lemay where they discuss the weekend again and Lemay reminds him that he needs to let Treville know.

“We’re running short on time, but I want to remind you that Treville will understand. He’s supportive and he understands what you’re dealing with. Tim is likely to be less understanding, but he’s young and doesn’t understand what you’re going through. In time, he will but it’s more important that you put your health first in this case. I want you to call Treville tonight. You can run through some scenarios with Porthos and Athos to help ease your anxiety, but you have to let him know. The school needs to find another chaperone. Okay?”

Aramis nods and the session ends.

“How’d it go,” Porthos asks when Aramis comes out into the waiting room.

“Fine. Just talked about the weekend.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“No,” Aramis says easily. He knows that he should pass on what Lemay said about telling Treville, but he doesn’t want to. He’s already run through the scenarios in his head and none of them are good. It’s pathetic to have to explain that something in his head is keeping him from doing something so basic as going to the city. He’s a grown man who can’t function because of his mind.

“Everything okay, ‘Mis,” Porthos asks. Aramis has been silent and brooding on their walk to the car.

“Yeah. Just a tough session. I’m kind of tired.”

“You’ve been sleeping a lot. Is your cold coming back or something?”

“Maybe.” Aramis shrugs his shoulders. He doesn’t want to talk anymore so when he gets in the car, he huddles in on himself, leaning his head against the window to look out.


	7. Chapter 7

Wednesday morning, Athos reminds Aramis that he needs to call Treville to let him know about the chaperone thing and that night when Athos asks if he called him, Aramis disappears upstairs, telling him he’ll take care of it. They check on him briefly before going to bed, but he seems to be fine. Porthos will keep an ear out as his bedroom is the closest. He’s quiet throughout the night, which is somewhat surprising given the last week, but they won’t object to him and them getting a good night’s sleep. When they check on him in the morning, before heading out to work, he’s still asleep. So, they leave a note reminding him to eat and give them a call if he needs.

Work is uneventful until Treville pokes his head out of his office calling for the two of them.

“Where is he,” Treville asks before they’ve had time to fully shut the door behind them.

“Where’s who,” Porthos asks.

“Aramis? Where is he? Sarah called and said that he never showed up for chaperoning.” Treville’s frantic in his words, standing nervously in front of his desk.

“He never called you,” Athos says.

“Called me? No. Why?”

“Damnit. He was supposed to call to tell you he couldn’t do it. The trial run last weekend failed. He had a panic attack and then a flashback.”

“Lemay had an emergency meeting with him to work through it,” Porthos adds. “We had to chase him through the city.”

“Damnit. I knew I should’ve just put my foot down and said no.”

“Did they have to cancel the trip?”

“No. Sarah got the neighbor to look after Meg and went on the trip herself. How’s Aramis doing?”

“Anxious and upset but he’s doing okay.”

“I’m sorry about this, Captain. He was supposed to call you. Lemay wanted it to be him that called, not us,” Athos says.

Treville sighs. “It’s not your guys’ fault. I’m just glad that he’s okay. When Sarah called, I feared the worst.”

“We’ll talk with him unless you want to.”

“Not right now. I’ll have a talk with him later, but you should let him know that he’s going to have to talk with Tim. I’ll make some explanation tonight but he’s going to have to face the consequences.”

The rest of the day is unsettled for them as they wait for any word from Aramis and contemplate what to say. He answers their texts but nothing more. There’s no questions or comments on the field trip that he missed.

“How’re we going to tackle this, Athos,” Porthos asks as they sit on the train.

“I don’t know. It’s not like he hasn’t lied to us before but there’s something different about this one.”

“What puzzles me the most is the why. I thought we’d gotten past this. I thought he trusted us.”

“I know,” Athos says. “I think that’s our approach. He’s not a child and we’re not his parents, but we are his friends or at least I thought we were. And I think enough punishment if we want to call it that, will come from talking to Tim.”

“You think he’s going to be able to do that? He couldn’t even call the Captain to let him know.”

“It won’t be easy, but, yes, I think he will and it might help the both of them to understand each other more. Tim never should’ve asked Aramis. He should’ve known better than to ask him.”

“He’s a kid, Athos. You can’t really blame him for wanting to find a chaperone to go on the field trip.”

“I’m not blaming him. I am saying that he knows Aramis has issues. Aramis lived with them for a few months.”

“You thinking he did it on purpose?”

“No, but I do think he knew how to use guilt to get Aramis to do what he wanted. He really wanted to go to the Market. He has for the past year since they couldn’t last year,” Athos says. “But with Aramis, I think we just take a questioning route. Something’s not right that he’s back to not telling us and we need to talk to him about it before it gets worse.”

Porthos agrees and they fall into silence for the rest of the train ride. The walk home is quiet, cold, and snowy. The peacefulness of the big flakes falling around them is in contrast to the hesitancy both feel as they approach the house. Talking with Aramis is no longer as volatile or difficult as it once was, therapy and medication having helped to teach Aramis about tempering his emotions, but both are concerned about the answers they’ll get from him. Why didn’t he just tell them that he didn’t call Treville?

When they get home, cold and snowy, the house is quiet and dark save for the den where they find Aramis asleep on the couch under a couple layers of quilts. The cold air gets to him quickly. Lemay’s told them that it’s probably more of a trigger for him because the night Aramis spent out in the desert following the massacre holds the strongest memories for him, tying it especially with loneliness and guilt. By the time daylight came, time was much less clear for him. Even in the heat of summer, Aramis could still take a terrible chill if his moods or memories took the wrong turn.

“Why don’t we just get dinner ready,” Porthos says. “Let’s see if we can get him to eat something before we have a talk with him. He’s starting to lose the weight he’s put back on.”

“Good idea.” Athos’ job in getting dinner together is largely prepping ingredients. He’s much better with a knife than Porthos could ever hope to be, which is strange because Athos is a terrible cook. In all of their years of friendship, he’s yet to understand how a man who’s terrible at cooking can be so great with a knife. Together, dinner comes together quickly and Athos is going to wake Aramis while Porthos finishes the last touches.

“When did you get home,” Aramis asks, voice groggy. He stretches under the blankets, enjoying the warmth. It was cold in the house and this was the only way he could find comfort.

“About a half-hour ago. Dinner’s ready,” Athos says.

“Oh.”

“You’ve got to try to eat something, Aramis. It doesn’t have to be a lot, but you do need to eat. Porthos even has some tea brewing to help keep you warm.”

Aramis reluctantly agrees, throwing the blankets off. Athos steadiness him as he gets to his feet.

“Have you just been sleeping today,” Athos asks.

“Um… I think so. I might’ve eaten somewhere in there but… I don’t know…”

“Well, then moving around a little and eating some dinner will be good.” Athos suspects that Aramis had a small snack at some point but spent the day sleeping because it kept the anxiety and pain of depression away.

Dinner is full of small talk and covertly watching Aramis pick at his food. He drinks the tea easily, holding the warm mug in his hands with a pleased look on his face. Once they’re certain he’s done, they decide to start the conversation.

“Treville called us into his office today. He was quite concerned with where you were,” Athos says.

“Oh.” Aramis looks down at his tea.

“He thought you were showing up for Tim’s field trip and when you didn’t, Sarah called him worried about you,” Porthos says.

“You told me that you’d call him,” Athos says. “Why didn’t you, Aramis?”

“Don’t know.” Aramis shrugs his shoulders, speaking quietly.

“Why didn’t you tell us that you didn’t call him,” Porthos asks.

“Don’t know.”

“Damnit, Aramis. Don’t you trust us? I thought you trusted us.” Porthos just stops himself from slapping his hand on the table in anger. His loud voice and frustrated tone will be enough that Aramis might be too anxious to talk.

“I… I do. I just…,” Aramis begins, panic growing as Porthos’ anger becomes clear.

“Let’s clean up the dishes and the kitchen first,” Athos says. “Then we’ll go talk in the den. Aramis, grab your dishes and something else to bring into the kitchen. You can help me load the dishwasher. You know that I don’t quite get it right. Porthos, why don’t you work on putting the leftovers in containers.”

Porthos doesn’t argue with Athos’ change in plans, seeing the sense in diffusing the tension and giving Aramis time to think without them pressuring him. They work mostly in silence, with Aramis occasionally directing Athos where to put dishes in the dishwasher.

“We’re not angry, Aramis,” Athos says when they’re nearly done. “We just don’t understand what’s going on. It worries us that you didn’t tell us that you hadn’t called Treville.”

“Yeah, we’re just worried,” Porthos says, keeping his voice steady so Aramis will stay calm.

“I didn’t mean to worry anyone,” Aramis says. He leans against the counter while Athos finishes setting up the dishwasher.

“You may not have meant to, but you did because we care about you.”

Aramis nods his head, looking down at the floor.

“You do know that we care, don’t you?”

“I guess.”

“Damnit, Aramis. How many times do we have to tell you? To show you? You think we’d go down to Chicago for a trial run to the Market for just anyone? You’re our friend, our brother.” Porthos can’t help the rising in his voice but it’s not from anger. It’s frustration, but that’s not what Aramis sees. Aramis quickly starts to quicken his breathing and push himself against the counter, slowly sliding away from them.

“Don’t leave, Aramis,” Athos says quietly. “We can go sit somewhere to talk, but don’t run off. We need to have this talk and it has to happen tonight.”

Aramis nods and stops moving but he doesn’t look any more ready to talk.

“Do you want to stay here or go elsewhere, ‘Mis,” Porthos asks, being sure to temper his voice.

“Elsewhere,” Aramis says quietly.

“Okay. Where?”

“Den?”

“Okay. Den it is.” Porthos and Athos are the first to leave, letting Aramis come at his own pace. Once they’re nearly out of the kitchen, they hear his feet on the kitchen tile. In the den, they settle into their usual places. Aramis takes up a corner on the couch closest to the TV and further from the armchair where Porthos sits. Athos takes the other corner opposite from Aramis.

“What’s going on, Aramis,” Athos asks.

“I don’t know.” Aramis shrugs his shoulders, picking at the pillow he has in his lap.

“I think you have some idea. Now, please, just tell us. We’re concerned that something major’s going on. You haven’t lied to us in a couple of months.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You said you were going to call Treville and you didn’t,” Athos says.

“But you never asked if I did.”

“There was an assumption, ‘Mis. Stop splitting hairs here,” Porthos says. “Now, why didn’t you call him? He was really worried today.”

“I don’t know. I just… I couldn’t.”

“What were you afraid of,” Athos ask.

“It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not. It’s something that’s bothering you. Now, would you please tell us. We might be able to help.”

“You can’t,” Aramis says, breathing heavily but it’s not from a rising panic.

“So, you think, but talking about it might help. It can’t be easy keeping it in.”

“You know we’re not going to judge you for anything. We’re here to help,” Porthos adds.

“You should though. Everyone else does. Judge that is,” Aramis says.

“Judge you for what?”

“Being a grown man who can’t do basic things like going to the grocery store or the city without freaking out and bolting,” Aramis says harshly.

“There’s nothing wrong with any of that, especially in your case. You have anxiety and PTSD. But you’re doing better,” Athos says. “Sure, going out in crowds and certain public places is a challenge now, but it won’t always be. It takes time and patience.”

“Too much fucking time, if you ask me.”

“I’m sure it’s frustrating to you. It is to us as well,” Porthos says. “Not because we’re frustrated with you but in seeing how much you’re working to get better and how hard it is. It’s just not fair that it’s so difficult. You’re working hard enough.”

“I didn’t think…” Aramis trails off.

“That we knew how hard you were working? Aramis, we watch you working, we see what you’re doing to get a handle on everything that’s been thrown at you,” Athos says. “And Porthos is right, it is frustrating to watch your work not always pay off but trust me that it will. You just have to give it time.”

“I hate that though.”

“I know.” Athos pauses. “So, was that the reason you didn’t call the Captain?”

“Yes, and I didn’t want to disappoint him. I’ve already disappointed the two of you and Tim. One more I just couldn’t take. Especially not him. Sorry.”

“No, we understand the role he has in your life,” Porthos says. They’d always wondered whose picture it was that Treville kept on his desk. Sarah, Tim, and Ben they recognized, but the smiling young man was a mystery that Treville never explained. “But he wouldn’t have been disappointed. He would’ve understood.”

“So, you say, but you don’t know him like I do.”

“True, we don’t,” Athos says. “So, knowing him, the man who never gave up looking for you after you disappeared, who came to visit you at the hospital when you were just back from Afghanistan, who took you into his home, fed, clothed, and cared for you, and who fought so hard to clear you of the trumped up charges, what do you think he would’ve said?”

Aramis sighs. “He would’ve been okay with it. He always is but he shouldn’t be. I screwed up.”

“No, not out there. Where you screwed up, as you want to call it, is in not calling him and letting them worry that something had happened to you.”

“And, while we’re on the subject of disappointment,” Porthos begins, “you haven’t disappointed me or Athos except that you didn’t tell us you couldn’t make the call because you were having doubts and worries.”

Aramis nods. “Sorry.”

“About what?”

“Not talking to you two. Not letting you know and worrying you. I didn’t mean to.”

“We know that, but in the future remember that we care and when something’s wrong, we’d like you to talk with us so that we can help, even if that’s just listening,” Athos says.

“Okay.” Aramis nods.

“There is one other thing,” Porthos says, hesitant for the first time that evening.

“Treville?”

“Tim.”

Aramis’ face pales as Porthos’ answer, but he swallows and nods. “I suppose that’s a fair punishment.”

“It’s not a punishment.”

Aramis raises an eyebrow at them.

“That’s not how we intend it, at least, but I’m sure that’s how it’ll feel to you,” Athos says.

“We think that it’s the best for the both of you. You and Tim have been distant since you showed up on their doorstep and it’s largely from a lack of understanding of your condition,” Porthos says.

“You think that this will bring us together,” Aramis says, the doubt clear in his voice.

“Not as good friends or anything, but you might understand each other better.”

“The tension between you two isn’t good. You’re not going away as a part of those kids’ lives and you two can’t keep avoiding each other,” Athos says.

“I don’t see it the same way as you, but I’ll talk to him. That’s my responsibility anyway for explaining my actions,” Aramis says.

“Do you want to talk with him before the party on Saturday,” Porthos asks.

“Um… maybe. I’ll think about it.”

“Let us know in the morning what you decide that way we can arrange something.”

“Okay.”

“How’re you feeling,” Athos asks.

“Fine. A bit nervous about talking with Tim but fine.”

“You up for some TV time tonight?”

“Sure.”

The trio spends the rest of their night watching TV, which Aramis enjoys because he lets himself get lost in the shows.


	8. Chapter 8

When morning comes, Athos and Porthos are running late and don’t remember to ask about when he’s going to meet with Tim, not even when they drop him off for his appointment with Lemay before going to the train. Aramis is okay with their forgetfulness because he has an idea. He talks it over with Lemay during their session, surprising the psychiatrist by his readiness to talk. Lemay thinks that it’s a good idea as well and they talk through how to discuss Aramis’ illness with Tim. The last thing Aramis wants to do is to frustrate or confuse the young boy by explaining it in the wrong terms or telling him too much.

When he’s done with the appointment, Sarah and Meg are there to pick him up. He’s a little hesitant even though this is part of their routine.

“How’d your session go,” Sarah asks as she puts the car into drive to head out of the parking lot.

“Good,” Aramis says, feeling some of the worry slip away as he remembers what he and Lemay talked about.

“You sound unusually positive.”

“I have something I’d like to talk with you about, but first I want to apologize for yesterday. I should’ve called or at least let Athos or Porthos know to let one of you know. So, I apologize for the hassle it caused and the worry.”

“Thank you, Aramis. I’d made some backup plans, just in case.”

“Sorry.”

“No, that’s not how I meant it. I wasn’t expecting you to fail and I’m not upset that you couldn’t go. I just knew that it might happen, so I made back up plan. Now, what’s your thing that you’d like to talk with me about?”

“Well, it’s about Tim. I’d like to apologize to him and give him some explanation of why I couldn’t make it,” Aramis says.

“Go on.” She’s glad that he wants to make another attempt to explain his illnesses to Tim. Their eldest child had taken Aramis’ arrival the hardest, growing resentment and fear of him that hadn’t been resolved in the past year. As Aramis explains, she’s surprised and happy to see his growing excitement about the plans. While Ben will be home from school in the next couple hours, Tim won’t be until the afternoon, so they have some time to get his plan put together. He sends a text to Athos and Porthos that he’ll be at the Treville’s for the day while Sarah drives them there.

Once Ben is home and lunch eaten, Sarah heads out to the store while Aramis apologizes profusely.

“I should go. I really should. I could probably do it,” Aramis rambles.

“Sure, you could and then would you be functional this afternoon when Tim comes home,” she asks bluntly.

“No, but I really should go. It’s not your responsibility.”

“Look at it this way. You’re looking after the kids for me, so I’ll take care of this for you. And while Ben could handle going out, it’s nap time for Meg. She doesn’t need to be going out to a noisy grocery store. I have your list and if I have questions, I have a phone.”

“Okay, okay. Thanks. I really appreciate you doing this.”

“I’m glad that you’re willing to try again with Tim. Now, go have fun with Ben. I think he’s waiting to show you what he’s been doing in school. And call if you have any trouble.”

The next couple hours go smoothly for Ben and Aramis with the two playing legos, drawing, and watching some TV. When Sarah comes home, laden with bags, they both help her bring them in from the garage and work on putting everything away. Sarah and Ben go to meet Tim when it’s about time for the bus to drop him off at the corner.

“You have a surprise waiting for you at home,” Sarah tells Tim as they walk back. She doesn’t want him to be caught off-guard by Aramis’ presence. He’d been quite upset all day yesterday, going between crying and being angry with Aramis. She and Jean had talked with him, explaining why Aramis couldn’t make it but neither was sure how much Tim understood.

“I do?” Tim jumps a bit at the news.

“It’s Aramis!” Ben can’t contain his own excitement.

“Him?” Tim’s tone sours immediately. “I don’t want to see him.”

“He wants to apologize and explain things to you,” Sarah says, stopping and turning to look at Tim. “He feels really bad about what happened-“

“He should. He lied!” Tim cuts her off.

“No, he didn’t. Like your dad and I said last night, he wanted to, but he couldn’t and he can’t help it.”

“He’s a coward then.”

“He most definitely is not and you don’t say that to him. Now, he’s arranged a treat for you as well.”

“What, is he going to tell me he’s going to take me somewhere and then back out again? No, thanks. I’ll just go to my room and do my homework.”

“You will not. Now he’s really trying and I want you to as well,” Sarah says.

“I don’t even know why you and dad care so much about him. He’s useless. He can’t even do things on his own like shop and drive.”

“None of it is his fault, Tim. He’s been through a lot the last couple years and he deserves more than your anger. Now, I think you’re really going to like this treat he’s got planned.”

“I doubt it.”

“However you feel, I want you to go into this open-minded. Now, let’s go. He and Meg are waiting on us.” Sarah starts them walking again.

“You left him with Meg?”

“I trust him with Meg, just like I trust him with you and Ben.”

“He’s really fun, Tim,” Ben says loudly, running past Tim until Sarah tells him to stop. Tim sulks the rest of the walk to the house. Unsurprisingly, Aramis isn’t there to greet them. She expects that his worry is getting the better part of him now.

“Why don’t you two go take your boots and jackets off. Tim, put your backpack away and pull out your folder. Remember to put it on the desk. Then grab your lunch box and take it to the kitchen,” Sarah says. Then she goes off in search of Aramis, finding him in the den, holding a quiet, but awake Meg while he paces.

“You doing okay,” she asks.

“Yeah, sure, fine.”

“You’ll be fine. I will say that he’s still angry. Jean and I’ve tried to explain things to him, but I don’t think that it’s making sense to him. So, if he’s quiet or short, don’t take it personally or give up. He’ll get it. He’s a smart, caring boy.”

“Caring and smart only go so far, Sarah.”

“I know him, Aramis. And I know that he’ll understand. He just needs time and I think that this afternoon will be perfect. Now, handoff Meg now that you’ve worked your magic on her. I really could’ve used you when Ben was born. He was a noisy baby.”

Aramis hands Meg off, looking at the door as though it was a gateway to a dangerous world.

“It’ll be fine, but if you need help, then I’m here. Now, go. He’s waiting in the kitchen.”

“Thanks.” Aramis grabs a book from the coffee table and takes a deep breath before going out into the hall and down to the kitchen. There, unloading his lunchbox, is Tim and for a good five seconds, Aramis considers turning. But he remembers what he and Lemay talked about and forces himself to put on something of a smile and walk into the kitchen.

“Hey, Tim. How was school today?” He can’t keep the nervousness out of his voice.

“Fine.” Tim’s voice is short.

“Good, good. I’m sorry,” Aramis blurts out. “About yesterday, that is.”

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have expected you to really be there anyway.”

“I guess I deserve that.” The two fall into a tense silence until Aramis forces himself to speak. “So, your mom and dad have told me that you love working in the kitchen. My grandmother and mom taught me to cook and bake.”

“So.” Tim leans against the counter, arms crossed, glaring.

“So, I used to be pretty good at baking. I’m a decent cook, too, but baking was more my thing. And I thought we could spend the afternoon baking some things for the party tomorrow night.”

“You want to bake?” There’s a slight ease of the tension as Tim is intrigued though he tries his best to hide it.

“Yes, I brought my favorite cookbook. I grew up using it and mom did too. It’s been part of my family since we came here.” Aramis pulls the cookbook from behind his back, holding the worn book in his arms. The look and feel are comforting in his hands and give him the courage to keep talking. “Your mom got a bunch of the things we’d need to make some cookies from here. I’ve…um... I’ve always found that baking calms me and helps me to be more relaxed.”

“So, you think that this will help us be friends?” The doubt and tension are back.

“I’m hoping that we’ll have a good time. If we come to be friends, then that’s what happens. The truth is, Tim, I’m a mess and I know that can make it difficult to be around me. I don’t know why the others want to be at times, but I’m more than grateful for their support. I wouldn’t be here without it and I hate that we’ve gotten off to such a bad start. Can we be closer? I don’t know but I don’t want the tension between us. Okay?”

“Okay,” Tim says hesitantly.

“Good.”

“So, can I take a look at the book,” Tim asks after a pause.

“Sure, let’s go sit at the table and plan out what we want to make.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this story. I hope that you've enjoyed it. It certainly didn't quite go where I thought it was, but I like the ending. It was supposed to end with a party where Tim and Aramis talked, but I like the two of them baking in the kitchen better because it sets up for later stories (which are in the Whumptober collections).

The next half hour they spend looking through the book. Aramis lets Tim flip through the pages. In the tense silence, he makes occasional comments about cookies that are really good or a spot of dried food on the page that brings up a memory. Each of his sisters has the same book, them being a gift from their grandmother one year. His dad had protested some when Aramis got a cookbook, too, but he didn’t keep it up, especially not after seeing how happy Aramis was in the kitchen.

They settle on four different types of cookies to make: chocolate crackles, thumbprints, sugar cookies for cutouts, and spritz. With their recipes set, they start work on getting the doughs together. It’s awkward at first with both hesitant to speak much, resorting instead to an awkward silence broken by brief requests for items or questions.

“You know I used to use your dad’s kitchen back in college to bake cookies,” Aramis says as he’s cleaning up some of the bowls and measuring cups so they can start on the next dough. One’s already in the fridge chilling and Tim stands ready with a dish towel to try things off. “The dorms didn’t have kitchens and I wanted to bake, so he’d let me come over.”

“You’ve known him for a long time,” Tim says as he dries a bowl.

“Since the day I turned eighteen and tried to enlist because my girlfriend broke my heart,” Aramis says fondly. “He called my parents and convinced me to keep my scholarship and join the ROTC instead if my heart was still set on the military after the summer passed.”

“Oh.” Tim pauses for a moment, considering if he should ask a question. “Do you regret being a soldier?”

“Because of what happened, you mean?”

Tim nods, drying dishes.

“I never really thought about it. I guess not.”

“Even though you’re sick now?”

“Well, I’d rather that all not have happened but if I hadn’t joined then I’d have never met your dad and gotten to know you all. I did have a lot of fun in ROTC and until everything went bottoms up, I enjoyed learning and doing my job. I was a sniper and training as a medic, too.”

“Were you any good? As a sniper?”

“Among the best. Part of it’s a skill and part of it is training. Back then I could take out any target they directed me at. I had one miss and that was nerves at the beginning. Now, though, even holding a pen makes my hand shaky sometimes.”

“Maybe you’ll be able to get back to it with some practice. Dad always says that practice makes you better,” Tim says.

“He’s right on that but this will take a little more than practice.” He hasn’t even wanted to pick up a gun for any kind of practice in months.

“You mean your illnesses and stuff?”

“Yeah. They tend to get in the way of everything. It doesn’t matter how much or little I want to do something, they’re always there interfering.” Aramis pauses for a moment. “Though everyone seems to think that they’re getting better.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Tim speaks, “Well, last year at this time you were sick and had nightmares and freaked out if me or Ben came near.”

“I was a mess last year, wasn’t I?”

“Mom and dad were really worried but you’re a lot better now. They still worry though.”

“Oh.”

They lapse back into silence as they work on getting the thumbprint cookies divided out. As Aramis gets the dough rolled into small balls, Tim rolls them in the egg white and chopped walnuts. After a few minutes, Aramis speaks again.

“You… um… you can ask more questions if you want.”

They continue on in silence for a while longer until they get two trays ready to go into the oven.

“Do you still have nightmares,” Tim asks once they’ve put the trays in the oven.

“Yes, but not as often. Athos or Porthos usually stays with me when I do so they can wake me up quickly.” Aramis leans against the oven, enjoying the warmth seeping through the oven door. Despite their work, he’s chilled.

“That’s good. I… I think that was the worst part. Waking up to you screaming in a nightmare.” Tim glances down at the floor, fiddling with the dish towel he’d cleaned his hands with.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you couldn’t help it, but it was scary. I mean, I have nightmares and they seem pretty bad, but I never scream. So, it must be really bad what you dream of. I can’t think of anything that bad.”

“It was bad.” Aramis stares past Tim looking out the window and just when he’s starting to see the tiny, dead bodies, he remembers Lemay’s training. He shakes his head and tells himself to stop.

“Stop what, Aramis,” Tim asks.

“What?” Aramis looks down at Tim, confusion clear.

“You said ‘stop.’ Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, Tim. You’re fine. It’s just something my therapist taught me to stop my thoughts from wandering.”

“Does it work?”

“Sometimes. It’s hard and takes a lot of work. I don’t always get it right.”

“Well, it seems like it worked this time.”

“Yeah.” Aramis knows that it didn’t completely work. Tim distracted him.

“It’s your turn.”

“What?”

“Well, it’s not really fair if I’m the only one who gets to ask questions. You can ask me a question now.”

“No, that’s fine. You don’t have to answer any questions,” Aramis says quickly.

“It’s okay. It’s only fair.”

“Okay. Um… what do you like most about school?”

“Geography. And PE.”

“Geography? Is that learning the different states and stuff?”

“Yeah. It’s really fun because we spend a few days on each state and we learn lots of different things about it, like all of the important things that happened.”

“That is always a lot of fun.” Aramis pauses a moment to look in the oven; the cookies are nearly done but they have a few minutes left. “Let’s start getting the next batch ready.” As they get started again, Aramis tells Tim he can ask his next question.

“Why’d you leave back in April? Was Meg’s crying too much?”

“Partly. It set things in motion, but it was to prevent it from happening again.”

“What? Prevent what? The massacre?” Tim doesn’t know everything that happened in Afghanistan but he knows that there was a massacre, it involved children, and Aramis was the only one who lived. His parents tried to keep the truth from him and Ben but in a house with a man screaming at nightmares and having flashbacks from PTSD, hiding the truth was difficult.

“No, I… I was staying with my sister when I left the Navy, but I had a flashback and nearly hurt my niece, Olivia. I scared her bad enough she was in tears. I didn’t want that happening here. Not to you three and it was all getting worse back then. I was worried I couldn’t control it and I really can’t sometimes. Just last weekend I hit Athos in the middle of a panic attack and don’t remember even doing it.”

“He’s okay though, right?”

“Yeah. The black eye is fading. Athos kept saying it was okay, but it doesn’t help much.” Aramis stops his work to take out the cookie trays, leaving them on the racks to let the cookies set a little more before taking them off.

“Well, Athos always says what he means, so if he said it was okay, then it was. And I don’t think you meant to do it. Right?”

“No, I didn’t mean it at all. I wish I could take it back.”

“Then, you’re fine. He’s not mad. He’s probably more annoyed that you’re still upset about it.”

“Probably. That sounds like Athos. The both of them are really nice. Good friends.”

“Yeah. So, what’s your next question?”

“What don’t you like about school?”

“Math. It’s no fun. The stuff is too easy, but my teacher won’t give me any harder work.”

Aramis takes the cookies off one tray, setting them carefully on the rack before handing the spatula to Tim. “I’ll hold the tray while you take the cookies off,” Aramis says. Tim immediately grabs the footstep and sets it next to the breakfast bar where the racks are. He takes the spatula and starts carefully transferring the cookies to the racks.

“I might be able to help you with the math,” Aramis says once the cookies are on the racks. He takes both over to the other counter where they start loading them up.

“How?”

“Well, I’m not the best in school but math was something that I always enjoyed. It’s how I got part of my scholarship to college.”

“Really?” Tim knew that Porthos was really smart and almost went to grad school for science and that Athos was good at business law, but he didn’t know that Aramis knew math stuff.

“Yeah, and you’re already learning some this afternoon. Fractions. When we start the spritz dough, we’ll look at those ingredients more. Okay?”

“I can learn math from baking?”

“Yeah. There’s lots of math you can learn from baking. There’s fractions and ratios, multiplication and division. We’ll triple the sugar cookies so you can see. Some of the extras we can send with Porthos when he goes to the Boys and Girls’ Club tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.” He’d been wanting to learn those things in school, but his teacher didn’t want to even explain them to him, telling him that it’d just confuse him.

“So, what’s your question,” Aramis asks.

“Um… I don’t know.”

“Go ahead and ask. It’s fine.”

“Did you really go down to the Christmas Market the other weekend to see if you could go on the field trip?” Tim blurts out the question, regretting asking it right away.

“Yeah. I did.” Aramis tries not to show his nervousness. “But I failed miserably. I knew it would happen. Everyone did, but they decided to let me try.”

“If you knew you weren’t going to be able to go because it’d upset you, then why’d you say yes when I asked?”

“Guilt, I guess. And I hoped it might help.” Aramis shrugs his shoulders, focusing on his work.

“Help make me like you more?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you,” Tim says after a pause. Tim stops rolling dough balls in the egg whites and chopped nuts.

“No, you were fine in asking. I should’ve said no.” Aramis stops his work, looking down at Tim.

“No, I… um…. I knew what I was doing. I did it on purpose.”

“What do you mean?”

“I knew you wouldn’t say no and I knew that you wouldn’t be able to do it.”

“Oh.” Aramis leans against the counter, slowly sinking to the floor as he realizes how he was manipulated by Tim, set up to fail. He’d known he did it out of guilt, but he hadn’t realized that Tim did it deliberately and that hurt more than he thinks it should. “Oh, Tim. I…I…”

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I promise I’ll never do it again.” Tim’s words are frantic, increasingly loud, and mixed with tears, his breathing coming in hitches as he’s overcome with emotion. “Please, ‘Mis, please. I’m really, really sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“Do you two need help in here,” Sarah asks from the doorway. The sight of Aramis on the floor, staring ahead, muttering lowly and Tim kneeling next to him in tears, repeating his apologies has her itching to get in and fix the problem, but then Aramis seems to come back to himself.

“No, Sarah. We’re good here.”

“Okay,” she says, believing him because she doesn’t hear a hollowness to his voice. She is walking away as Aramis starts speaking.

“Tim, please calm down. Take a breath, okay?” Aramis rests his hands on the boy’s shoulders as Athos and Porthos do sometimes when he’s having a rough time. He knows that it helps to ground him a little and the warmth is comforting.

“I’m really, really sorry, Aramis. Please forgive me.” Tim’s breathing it a little slower and there is a slowing of the frantic tone, but he’s still quite upset.

“It’s alright. I forgive you, Tim.”

“You do? Why? I knew what I was doing.” Tim sniffs loudly as he gives Aramis a puzzled look.

“Just because you made a mistake, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve forgiveness. And in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t really that bad.”

“Did you forgive that Marsac guy?”

“He never apologized. You took responsibility for your actions and you feel remorse. I’m guessing that you won’t do this again? And I don’t mean just with me. That you won’t play this type of game with others?”

“No, never. I promise. Never again.”

“Good. Now, you okay with a hug?”

Tim nods.

“Then come here.” Aramis holds out his arms. He’s gotten better in the last couple of months with being touched, but he still takes a couple calming breaths.

“Thank you, ‘Mis,” Tim says, his head resting against Aramis’ shoulder as they hug. Suddenly he backs off a little, meeting Aramis’ eyes. “Is it okay to call you ‘Mis?”

“Of course,” Aramis says. Tim gives him a smile and goes back to hugging Aramis. “And, you’re welcome. Just remember your promise.”

“Always.”

They stay on the floor for a few minutes more before Aramis remembers the cookies.

“We should probably finish up the baking before our dough is too soft to bake,” he says. Tim nods and lets go of Aramis so they can both get up and get back to work. There’s some sniffling in the silence, but the tension is gone.

“With the sugar cookies, can we have Ben help with the cutting? He’d probably have a lot of fun picking the shapes,” Tim says.

“Sure. He can also help us with the decorating. We’ll need the help if we’re making a triple batch.”

“He’d really like that, too.”

As they continue working, the comfortable silence is often broken by conversation between the two. Tim starts asking questions about baking and Aramis tells him stories about growing up, learning how to bake from his mother and grandmother. By the time Treville, Athos, and Porthos walk through the front door, the two are smiling and laughing as they work. The noise is a relief to everyone and Treville decides to forgo talking with Aramis about the field trip, especially having heard about the talk Athos and Porthos had with him as well as how this baking session with Tim went. He’s happy to see a lighter, more comfortable relationship between Tim and Aramis. Like Athos and Porthos, Aramis is like an uncle to his kids and Treville never liked that Tim was hesitant of Aramis.

Their night ends with everyone joining in the kitchen to decorate the massive number of sugar cookies they make, snacking on some as they work. As they fill up on cookies, Sarah makes sure that there are some fruits and vegetables out on the table, too. And Aramis feels far more at home and happy than he’s felt in months. Perhaps, he thinks, he can accept this new normal because if this is it, he can’t find anything wrong with it.


End file.
